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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543112">Arrow in the Air</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarillis39/pseuds/Amarillis39'>Amarillis39</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>'Arrow in the Air' Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Big Dick Draco, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Conflicted Hermione, Draco Malfoy Has a Large Cock, Dub con is in relation to the slaves that are present throughout the story, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hermione is Kidnapped by Vikings, Historical, Injury, Jealousy, Minor Draco Malfoy/Original Female Characters, Mutual Pining, No Magic AU, References to Norse Religion &amp; Lore, Romance, Smut, Tags May Change, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Viking Draco Malfoy, Viking Draco is Hot, Viking Raids, Vikings, Villager Hermione Granger, general mayhem, idiots to lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:33:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarillis39/pseuds/Amarillis39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Their arrival was foretold by lightning.<br/>They slew, burned and kidnapped - caused havoc in the church of God.<br/>They were feared.<br/>They were the Raiders from the North.<br/>They were Vikings.</p><p>"He was a son of a king, he was Thor personified, he was almighty."<br/>___</p><p>Hermione lives a god fearing, quiet life in Iona, but her world is upended when Vikings attack her village.</p><p>Who is Draco Luciusson and why did he take her?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>'Arrow in the Air' Universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Finished Reading</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my Dramione Viking AU.</p><p>Big thanks and all the love to my alphabet (their patience and thirst for Viking!Draco are incomparable): <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis">Canttouchthis</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore">PTwritesmore</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas">ThusAtlas</a> (who also assists as the 'Lore Master')</p><p>The songs excerpts are from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2-R1KR7sfI">Song of the Vikings (My Mother Told Me)</a><br/>Any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, and without further ado - enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em></em>  </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “My mother told me </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Someday I will buy </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Galleys with good oars </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sail to distant shores.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And they sailed away. Proud and fearless warriors, hand picked by their King, Right Hand of Odin and Tyr. They boarded their longships and sailed away. They prayed to the loving Meili for weeks as they travelled and the Son of Odin gave them favorable winds and safe passage to the land of Saxons, Picts and Gaels. The legendary land of riches, power and beautiful women.</p><p>They swore before the wisest Odin and the beautiful Frigg that they would make this new land theirs. They would teach all those people the Old Ways - the right ways. They would show them how to worship the wolves and stags. They would teach them to love their surroundings. They would help them on their way to Valhalla, prepare them for the Ragnarok.</p><p>They prayed to Thor and the golden haired Sif for strength and protection, for fertility and power. They would worship the earth and the sacred trees. They prayed for thunder to wipe out their enemies and save their homes from harm.</p><p>They begged Loki to let them be safe from his mischievous ways and they would reward his patience with the riches from foreign lands. They begged him to keep their fires burning during the coldest winters and darkest nights.</p><p>And lastly, they prayed to almighty Tyr as they approached Britain. With his name on their lips they stormed into battle; he gave them strength to begin their rule over the British Isles. He made them fearless. He made them ready and willing to die for the cause, for Valkyrie to come for them and take them to the promised land to feast and await the end of times. </p><p>They would not fall to the land of Hel, where the dishonourable cowards burned. </p><p>And with that, their story began. With an offering to the gods and a promise. Then, with their blessings, they arrived in a faraway land of riches, warriors and beautiful women.</p><p>They arrived on the greenest grass of the Isle of Skye and fought for their dominance. Unafraid and unbowed - the captains of their fate. </p><p>They were the Vikings and they took what they believed was theirs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Stand up high on the prow </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Noble barque I steer </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Steady course to the haven.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Draco Luciusson stood with his leg bent and resting on the prow of his longship, deep in thought. The land before him started to materialise and he prayed to Thor for strength and to Tyr for luck in the battle, and lastly, to Loki - for his protection.</p><p>One does not want to anger Loki, unless one wants to feast in Valhalla before his time comes.</p><p>They were approaching the green and beautiful island of Iona of the Hebrides. Draco heard stories of the riches hidden deep beneath the monastery. Some village folks and traders passing by Dragonsthrope were way too loose tongued when offered some mead. </p><p>Draco turned his head towards his Jomsvikings working the oars. They had pillaged and plundered the Highlands for months now, their settlement expanding by the day. Allegiances were made, losses were suffered but Dragonsthrope stood strong. </p><p>He shared a look and a nod with his best friend and right hand, Theo. They knew each other since they both could walk; they learned to fight together under the eye of the best teachers the King could provide. Theo was a miracle child of their settlement back home in Norway; he had the protection of King Lucius thus he was not turned into life of servitude - despite what usually happened to abandoned orphans. He was found as a small baby in the forest on the coldest of all nights by the priestess of goddess Nott, the protector of night and darkness. </p><p>They called him Nottson as he prevailed in the harsh Nordic winter and night, only to be saved by the goddess herself in the form of her priestess. Nyedis rune was tattooed on the side of his face in tribute to his goddess and saviour. He lived up to his image of a son of the Night herself with his hair black like depths of Hel and his skin pale like the Moon. He looked different than other Norsemen and the respect he commanded now was not easy to achieve.</p><p>Theo was loyal. And Draco needed loyal friends and advisors in his quest to maintain the steady course to becoming the ruler of Norse Britain. Who did not want to be with them, was against them - it was simple as that. Methodically they worked through allegiances and wars with Saxons, Picts and fellow Norsemen.</p><p>Draco would make his father, the King of Nords proud. It was his birthright after all - being the king. Only, he chose a different land to rule.</p><p>He was a son of a king, he was Thor personified, he was almighty.</p><p>Draco traced delicate lines of runes tattooed on his forearm. Algiz for protection, Uruz for strength, Tiwaz for victory. And Thurisaz, a tribute to the fearless Thor.</p><p>The boats approached the land and anticipation was almost palpable. As the prow of his boat, named for the beautiful and loving Freya, touched the land, he brought the horn to his mouth and blew with all his might. </p><p>Fafnir, his white wolf, named after the great dragon from the stories, growled by his side. The beast was as greedy for blood as his winged counterpart was for gold and riches.</p><p>“TYR!!” screamed his warriors as they spilled out of their boats and the chaos began. </p><p>Draco revelled in it. He supposed that would make him more akin to the delinquent Loki, rather than powerful, but kind Thor. It didn’t matter, chaos was where he thrived. The scars on his body - the poetry of his victories.</p><p>He walked amongst the fray. Straight towards his target. The monastery that had unimaginable riches hidden beneath. Freya’s golden tears wasting away in the darkness of some dark forgotten cellar.</p><p>Villagers screamed as their homes burned to the ground. His Jomsvikings were ruthless; he had taught them well. The villagers that couldn’t fight ran towards the tiny woods a little way from the town. He had no interest in killing innocent people, he let them run for their lives. </p><p>All he wanted were riches and beautiful red headed women to turn into slaves or Shield Maidens. His warriors knew exactly what needed to be done. </p><p>______________</p><p>Hermione was holding a newly wielded arrow, balancing it on her pointer finger. <em> Perfect. </em></p><p>It was a day like any other. She accompanied her father to the mass at the monastery, then went to work in her father’s forge. Athdar was getting old, not that he would admit it in any way. His eyesight was not as good as it used to be and his hands shook ever so slightly. She did her best to help any way she could and as inconspicuously as possible too. </p><p>She couldn’t help the little smile that ghosted over her lips as she admired the perfectly wielded artifact; it was her best work yet.</p><p>
  <em> Father will be proud. </em>
</p><p>But she didn't have a chance to find out as the distant sound of a horn tore through the silence of her little village. It was soon followed by screams and cries, clinks of swords and the stench of burning thatch .  </p><p>
  <em> Vikings. </em>
</p><p>Until now, they were just a mere myth to her; something to tell misbehaving children to scare them off. Of course, everyone knew they existed and pillaged the Isles, but everybody hoped they were far away. Nobody was safe. Those Danes, she recalled from stories, were renowned for their ruthlessness. </p><p>She eyed the exit from the forge, one that led outside of her village and towards the woods. But she didn’t run; she made a split second decision and grabbed her sword and bow. Hermione was not going to run away, she would stand tall and she would rather die than be a coward. She was ready to meet her end if it meant she could at least try and save her village. </p><p>Hermione wasn’t a fool, of course. She knew it was a lost battle but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she ran away. So she took a deep breath. She touched her forehead, <em> in the name of the Father, </em> her heart, <em> the son, </em> and both her shoulders, <em> and the holy spirit. </em></p><p>She’d never seen a battle before. She read about them, of course, heard of them too. But no text or story could prepare her for the sight of rivers of blood and guts as people were killed without mercy by Viking longswords. Houses burned, people cried or begged for death. Dark painted devils didn’t falter, didn’t slow down at the sound of their dying pleas.</p><p>The sword shook violently in her hand. She’d never seen so much pain and death before. She gripped her weapon tighter and stalked into the chaos.</p><p>She fought with everything she had, she didn’t stop as her sword sank into the stomach of one of the Danes. Her God was forgiving. She would be rewarded in heaven for her bravery. </p><p>Hermione was overwhelmed, she’s never fought before. She only knew the technicalities of a sword fight; women were not allowed to join the army or train. Everything she learned was behind everyone’s back. </p><p>She fell to her knees as the heavy sword of the filthy Dane tore through her arm. She wasn’t deeply wounded, but she was surprised by the sting of her torn flesh. All she’d ever known were bruises or little burns here and there as she worked in the forge. She tried to stand in the middle of the makeshift battlefield; she knew she couldn’t lay amongst the fallen. Their empty eyes and terrified expressions made her ill, the pools of blood made her choke, the metallic smell of death and fire made her dizzy. But she was adamant to keep fighting.</p><p>She froze in her tracks and her breath caught in her throat as the figure on the other side of the village square commanded her attention. He was not fighting, but he held his longsword firmly as he stalked through the fray with the same unimaginable grace as the white wolf by his side. He was bare chested but clad in furs and pelts, black warpaint marred his face contrasting with the almost whiteness of his long braided hair. His skin was covered in tattoos of unfamiliar symbols and his gaze fixed directly upon her. </p><p>She was entranced by his painted face. <em> Was that why the Irish called them Black Danes </em>? Or was it because of death and destruction they left behind everywhere they went.</p><p>Hermione wanted to run. The man that walked towards her drained all her bravery and boldness. He was terrifying, he was regal and powerful. He was their leader, she was sure. </p><p>In a last desperate attempt at bravery she pulled the same arrow she was admiring from her quiver and flexed the bow string. She held her breath and tried to calm her heart as she aimed. There wouldn't be another attempt. </p><p>The white haired Viking didn’t waver; he kept staring at her with a piercing expression as she tried to compose herself, kept advancing with that unimaginable animalistic grace. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. </p><p>
  <em> Kill the Dane. </em>
</p><p>She opened her eyes and let the arrow fly and she revelled in a brief shock that passed his face just before it hit its target. It was like time stopped for a moment and the arrow froze just before sinking into his shoulder. He yelped in brief surprise but he didn’t stop. He was the predator and she just became his prey.</p><p>Instead of pouncing on her like she expected, he motioned to the beast that walked by his side and all Hermione could do was run. As fast as she could. Faster than she ever ran before.</p><p>Her breath burned her lungs as she tore through the village and towards salvation in the woods, she tripped and fell, ripping her skirt but it didn’t matter. She had to get away. This was where her damned bravery got her. She would be eaten alive by a wolf.</p><p>She knew she wouldn’t be fast enough but she pushed through anyway. She cried out in pain as the creature jumped on her back, pushing her forward. She fell face first in the grass; she tasted dirt and blood on her tongue and waited for the beast to sink its fangs into her neck.</p><p>But nothing happened. </p><p>The wolf rested its paws on her shoulder as it sat comfortably on her back. The creature was heavy and she was pressed into the damp grass waiting for her fate. Her heart was beating so fast it almost tore out of her chest. </p><p>She stopped flailing and a choked gasp escaped her lips when a pair of dirty leather boots stopped right in her periphery. She swallowed. Was this how she would meet her end? With her face pressed into dirt, killed by a merciless Viking?</p><p>“<em> Fafnir </em>,” a deep mesmerising voice said and the wolf stepped away immediately. Hermione made a split second decision and tried a last desperate attempt to escape. She barely managed to get up when she was grabbed by the waist and thrown over the tall Viking’s uninjured shoulder. </p><p>She screamed and punched at his back, but she knew it would be pointless. Hermione regretted that she didn’t run away when she had the chance at first. Her fate was to be killed in excruciating torture or raped. Tears ran freely from her eyes, disappearing into her curly brown hair as she dangled upside down.</p><p>What was she thinking, believing she could take on a fight with that ruthless lot? Now she would pay for her foolishness. </p><p>But she wouldn’t be Hermione the Smith’s Daughter if she didn’t fight till the end. So she scratched and kicked with all her might. It wouldn't improve her situation but at least it would make her captor’s life harder. </p><p>“<em> You’re mine now </em>. You’ll make a fine shield maiden, girl,” he spoke with a heavy accent. She thought them to be uneducated swines at first, but, it seemed they were at least somewhat educated heathen swines. She hated herself for the way her insides somersaulted in reaction to the harsh tone of his voice. She was confused at the contradicting signals her own body gave her. He must have put  her under his evil spell, wasn’t that what a priest said? Those barbarians had the devil on their side, they were demons personified. They had no compassion and no manners. They worshipped Satan and called him Odin almighty. Mesmerising, trapping and using innocent women was something a devil servant would do, after all, to turn good God-fearing citizens against themselves.</p><p>“If you’re not going to kill me then let me out!” Hermione screamed, relentless, her face flushed with anger and her messy hair partially obscuring her view as she struggled against her captor. Filthy Dane that dragged her scratching and screaming away from her burning village. She wished he would just kill her then. But this is the price one paid for shooting Norse Jarl as he pillaged. “Please…” She felt a fresh wave of hot tears stream from her eyes.</p><p>He ignored her.</p><p>Her breath was knocked out of her when the devil who took her threw her unceremoniously onto his boat. Her knees and elbows stung as she hit the wooden planks. Suddenly, her hands were bound in front of her with a thick rope and a piece of cloth stuffed in her mouth. </p><p>She choked and gasped but neither the ropes nor her gag gave way. She had heard stories of what those primitive Norse barbarians do to the women they kidnap, and she shuddered at the thought. Maybe she could flip herself overboard and drown instead of being turned into a toy for their evil warriors.</p><p>She grew up believing she should save herself until the right man appeared. The idea of those rough servants of the devil touching her filled her with paralyzing terror. Tears were still streaming down her cheeks as she watched the calm sea with  blurred vision.</p><p>She must have fallen asleep, lulled by the waves and exhaustion, because when she opened her eyes again, she was looking at the night sky. She cast her gaze among the mosaic of shining diamonds above to be met with twinkling stars that shaped a dragon across the night sky, chased by fearless Hercules. She sniffled, <em> at least the stars were the same even away from Iona. </em></p><p>She was pulled from her reverie by a pair of strong hands guiding her up to a sitting position and the cloth gagging her unceremoniously removed. She spluttered and stared into the silver eyes of her captor. His pale face illuminated by the torch attached to the prow. She was scared but couldn’t help to be mesmerised by the sharp features of his face; the warpaint it was covered with when she was captured was now gone, revealing an unfamiliar set of symbols tattooed on his temples. He was a terrifying man, and yet there was something encinting about him. </p><p>Hermione had never seen anyone who looked even remotely similar. She was only ever around her fellow villagers or an occasional trader. Tall, long haired men, bare chested and clad in furs and leathers were only present in the stories. Up until now.</p><p>They were real and scary, and for some unknown reason she was still alive.</p><p>“Eat,” he pushed a piece of bread and a skin full of water for her to drink. She didn’t want to accept at first but then she realised that if he wanted her dead he wouldn’t waste time on trying to poison her. What would be the point in that? He could always throw her overboard, God only knows she wanted to do it herself. And she was so thirsty after all.</p><p>She struggled to keep hold of the skin with her bound hands and finally took a tentative sip of the water and bit some of the bread he patiently held for her until she could grab it from his hand; she found the tenderness of the moment quietly surprising.</p><p>All this was completely wrong.</p><p>Hermione’s eyes drifted to the wound she inflicted. Clean piece of cloth, already bloodsoaked, was pressed to his shoulder. She revelled in her little moment of satisfaction, despite her less than desirable situation.</p><p>“W - What will you do with me?” she asked, surprised at the steadiness of her voice. He didn’t reply right away, staring into the night sky. He looked like a beautiful statue. But he was a monster. Looks could be very deceiving.</p><p>“It depends…” he replied and she was scared to ask him to explain what exactly it depended on. So she waited for him to say more. While inspecting the mesmerising lines of his face. She was fascinated by the delicate designs of his tattoos, she’d never seen anyone with their body painted this way. Some sailors that passed by the island had some, but none of them as beautiful. Those ones had meaning.</p><p>“You could be a fine shield maiden if you decide to join us… otherwise you’ll do well as a thrall… if you obey that is. Otherwise… you’ll probably suffer.”</p><p>“A thrall?” she repeated, it didn’t sound good. The white-haired viking smirked.</p><p>“You’ll work. You’ll do what you’re told and if you’re good at it, we may pay you for it. We pay our slaves and they can buy their freedom.” </p><p>“I’ll work?” she must have heard wrong. “B - But you’re Vikings, you take women and you make them do unspeakable things…” she whispered so quietly, she wasn't sure he even heard her.</p><p>“Only those who want that and they get paid for it handsomely. We are Norsemen, not barbarians…” he replied sounding deeply offended. “If you want to be one of them, I shall request your service as soon as we dock.” His smile was so full of darkness that Hermione felt lightheaded. She was sure this was how Lucifer smiled just moments before he plunged himself from his heavenly home and straight into hell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Find me on <a href="https://amarillis39.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you have any questions or just want to chat!</p><p>Any and all feedback is appreciated! Kudos and comments are better than pillaged gold and jewels, just saying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here, chapter 2 of my Viking Dramione AU.</p><p>Big thanks and all the love to my alphabet (their patience and thirst for Viking!Draco are incomparable): <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis">Canttouchthis</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore">PTwritesmore</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas">ThusAtlas</a> (who also assists as the 'Lore Master')</p><p>The songs excerpt is from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfNJprcFlqM">Higher Ground by Rasmussen</a><br/>This is a little slower chapter, not really action-packed but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless!</p><p>Also, this chapter now contains a beautiful artwork commissioned by my incredible Alphabet from the amazing <a href="https://eiramrelyat.tumblr.com">eiramrelyat</a></p><p>Any and all feedback is welcome!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> When everything is done </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No treasures left behind </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They'll leave an exhausted land </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sweeping away in their ships of dragon </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Heathens from the north </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Coming to take it all </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hermione lost count of how many days she had lain bound on the hard planks of the Viking longboat. The blonde man thankfully removed her gag after having her swear, with a knife pressed to her throat, that she’d keep quiet. So naturally, she briefly considered screaming her lungs out, but she couldn’t be sure he would kill her; he would probably make her suffer and she would find herself gagged anew and bloody.</p><p>Hermione kept quiet. She accepted the water and stale bread and didn’t speak a word. As the tears refused to fall from her tired eyes, she prayed to her good and forgiving God. She knew she would be rewarded for her trials in the afterlife, but she never planned to become a martyr. </p><p>Hermione was pulled from her reverie by the loud cheers and screams from all around her. She looked over the side to see land materialise in the distance. </p><p><em> So this was it. </em> They arrived on their filthy heathen land. She imagined dirt and poverty as they approached. She prayed for a swift death, safe from the inevitable plague that awaited her on the besmirched land.</p><p>She closed her eyes as they inched closer.</p><p>Her heart broke for her beloved village, now nothing but ashes. It dawned on her for the first time since she had been taken that even if she escaped, there was nothing and no one left to go home to.</p><p>What she didn’t expect upon opening her eyes again, was a large thriving settlement with a massive, long building in the centre. Smiths were hard at work, shopkeepers advertised their goods aloud - furs, pelts, jewellery or clothes - they all tried to outdo one another as they displayed the merchandise, shouted out competitive prices and tried to lure potential customers to their stands. Loud, shrieking and laughing children ran amok around the narrow streets, chased by their mothers; the sheer normalcy of the scene made Hermione do a double-take. This definitely was not what she had expected. It was wrong.</p><p>Everyone stepped out of their way as the victorious warriors walked through the lively hubbub of their settlement.</p><p>Hermione looked around, bewildered; after all the bone-chilling stories she was told, she had made up her mind on what this place would look like - hell on earth. She expected plague, suffering and blood. Gaelic women being beaten, dragged by their hair and raped around every corner. Ungodly creatures were meant to roam the streets, like in the darkest depths of hell. In her imagination, Pagans were running berserk and slitting throats of children in sacrifice for their evil gods. What she saw made her question everything she was ever told. </p><p>These Norsemen were a terrifying and bloodthirsty lot, that was definitely true, but maybe, <em> just maybe </em>, they were not the barbarians they were painted to be. How could those cruel, bloodthirsty individuals live in such civility? </p><p>Maybe everyone had to make sacrifices to ensure their survival and safety.</p><p>She’d heard stories, told in hushed tones for fear of punishment from the heavens for such blasphemous speech; whispers that the devilish Celts who were slaughtered by the Romans weren't everything she was told to believe. The same Romans she was raised to be thankful to, for bringing the fear of God Almighty, were once the raiders of those lands. Did they deserve the absolution they preached about?</p><p>Before she could go deeper into her thoughts she was grabbed by her hair and hauled up to her feet. This was not the time to get lost in her thoughts. She felt weak in the knees after so many days of laying on hardwood. Her kidnapper was guiding her none too gently towards the large building in the centre of the village. </p><p>Villagers stared as Hermione and several others were led to meet their destiny; she felt  exposed, dirty and bloodied as she walked forward like a lamb for slaughter.  </p><p>But she couldn’t stop her curiosity as she watched the settlement that was bursting with life and warmth. She couldn’t comprehend it. It bewildered her to no end. Even her impending suffering and death were momentarily pushed to the back of her mind as her eyes hungrily explored her surroundings. </p><p>He must have noticed her confusion and subsequent interest with his home, and she hated herself for being so easy to read to anyone who looked close enough. Her father had often told her that she still had the curiosity of a child. It sounded endearing then, but now she felt like it really was what killed the cat. </p><p>“It’s called the Longhouse, it’s where the Jarl - that is me - and all his closest advisors and family live and feast,” he stated plainly, proof that he indeed noticed how she drank in her surroundings. He sounded so confident, like it was completely normal to live like a king within such a small community, while he continued to drag her along the narrow path. She braced herself and looked up, only to see him smirk with amusement. </p><p>They arrived at the Longhouse and entered directly into the massive dining hall with a fireplace in the centre and a wooden chair that resembled a throne at the head of the room. She no longer expected to see bloodied bodies hung from the ceiling, with roaches feasting on their rotting insides. The room was clean and warm; the smell of freshly prepared food made her stomach growl audibly. </p><p>Before Hermione could take a better look around, the Viking that was holding her motioned to a group of well dressed women busying themselves with preparing whatever it was that smelled so delicious. She was then handed over to a not particularly gentle matron who dragged her into a room, just off the dining hall.</p><p>“Filthy,” the woman muttered as she forcefully stripped Hermione who in turn held desperately onto the scraps of fabric, covering her most private areas, tears flowing down her cheeks anew. It was happening… She supposed she should make her peace with that, she expected it, after all. But she couldn’t help the sobs that tore out of her throat. </p><p>“You stupid girl. Off!” the woman shouted, tearing the remnants of her blouse away and leaving Hermione bare and shaking in fear and humiliation. He would surely come now and defile her, destroy her… She prayed quietly, trying to cover her breasts and mound with her hands as best as she could. </p><p>“In!” The woman’s harsh voice made her open her eyes. She hadn’t realised she was squeezing shut, and finally looked around the room. The man wasn’t there, instead a bath was drawn in the tub that stood in the centre of a small room. Hermione exhaled a shaky breath. A bath? That she could do, she supposed. But what was to happen after that bath? She shuddered at the thought but let the woman maneuver her about the room and wash her arms and feet none too gently with a wet flannel. Her skin would turn dark pink under the ministrations of the older woman. She was scrubbed furiously clean by the matron, who had no care for Hermione’s battle wound that burned under the incessant friction of the flannel, her delicate skin raw from her abuse. The water turned a dirty shade of copper as dust and blood mixed. </p><p>As terrified as she was, Hermione felt significantly better once she was bathed. But the sight of her torn clothes rumpled on the ground brought her back to her less than ideal current situation. Surely she wasn’t expected to walk around naked? </p><p>Before she could panic again, the older woman yanked her from the tub and started rubbing her dry with another rough flannel.</p><p>Moments later she was clean, dry and dressed in a long gray linen shift. </p><p>She expected to be treated like less than a human once she was ready, to be pushed and used. Instead, they offered her, albeit reluctantly, the delicious stew that she had smelt when she first arrived.</p><p>She ate like it was the best meal she’d ever had. It was thick and warm, full of chunky pieces of meat and vegetables. And only once she took the first wary bite did it dawn on her how starved she was, having been offered but a few pieces of dry bread throughout their journey. She forgot about the stares of the other women present as she stuffed her mouth full, almost forgetting to chew. She never ate anything quite so glorious before.</p><hr/><p>Draco winced in pain as he arrived in his quarters in the Longhouse. The girl was fiery. </p><p>And she was beautiful.</p><p>He didn’t plan on taking another thrall; they had more than enough servants now, even after granting freedom to several of them in the past weeks. But when he saw her, the fire in her eyes, determination written on her face, her wild locks and the way she held her sword, he couldn’t stop himself. He had gone for riches, but the only thing he wanted in Iona was her. She would make a fine shield maiden, he told himself, ignoring the way his skin prickled with anticipation when he thought about the fierce girl.</p><p>He felt like this was exactly what the elders meant in their teachings when he prepared to depart his homeland. He would teach her the Old Ways - the right ways. He would teach her to worship nature; the things the Romans forgot about and considered their right. He would teach her to worship the earth they walked on, the gods of wisdom and war, thunder and mischief. He would teach her about Ragnarok that would come to claim them all, that nothing was granted, nothing was forever - they had to live in the here and now, taking what they deserved and then feast in Valhalla when they met their end.</p><p>He closed his eyes and thanked gracious Nott for giving them the time to rest and recover in the darkness; to heal their wounds and prepare for the adventures to come. He thanked Nott for his best friend and brother, without whom he wouldn’t accomplish anything. Theo was blessed by the endless night and Draco considered himself lucky for earning his friendship and protection. No Draugr would attack him in the darkness, having been blessed by the son of the Night herself.</p><p>He slowly undressed, wincing as he tried to ease the pain in his left shoulder. But as he removed a bloodsoaked flannel, he couldn’t stop the hiss that tore out of his lips. She was a good shot but she would be an even better one, once she saw reason and joined their ranks. </p><p>She could wield a sword and knew her way around the bow. All one could ever hope for from a shield maiden. All and more…</p><p>He shook the overwhelming thoughts away as he stripped and stepped into a tub. </p><p>She was scared but he would make her understand. </p><p>He dismissed the thralls lurking around as he stretched his aching muscles in the relaxing hot water. He moaned deeply in his throat as the water soothed all his pains and aches, the little sting of his recent wound didn’t bother him as he soaked his exhausted body. He sighed as he sunk deeper into the tub. It had been days since the last time he’d enjoyed a decent soak. He motioned to one of the slaves and had them replace the water no less than three times before he felt clean enough to let his muscles loosen as he lay comfortably in the tub with his head propped on a fur pillow.  </p><p>A skittish, young thrall girl popped into the room and disturbed his peace.</p><p>She folded in on herself as he fixed her with an unforgiving gaze.</p><p>“My Lord…” she bowed and kept her head low, shaking in fear and embarrassment, not daring to make eye contact with the Jarl. He didn’t reply, just waited for her to speak up. Nobody interrupted him without consequence. And those Christian women were way too innocent for his liking. He hoped Hermione would be different.</p><p>“T - The girl, My Lord. She’s bathed and ready,” the girl, whose name he didn’t know, breathed and when he nodded, ran away as fast as she appeared. </p><p>He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. It was such an incredible feeling to be soaking in hot water after a battle and days at sea. He smirked to himself when he reminisced about the raid and the riches it granted them. They would serve well towards improving their settlement as well as fueling necessary alliances.</p><p>He thanked his godly protectors for their help. He thanked Meili for their safe and uneventful travels, and he thanked Thor for their luck. He thanked Odin for their victory and Tyr for their strength. He thanked Loki for letting them reap the spoils. And lastly, he thanked Freya for her golden tears splayed all over the world, waiting and ready to be collected and sacrificed in worship.</p><p>He let his thoughts wander, not for the first time that day, to the curly haired beauty. She looked so proud, even when her defeat was inevitable. He felt the warmth pool in his stomach at the memory of her determined gaze and graceful, sure movement of her sword.</p><p>Suddenly, all his thoughts were forced aside as the cold edge of a knife pressed firmly to his neck.</p><p><em> So she didn’t give up then. </em>He smiled openly at the thought of her temper. But he knew she wouldn’t be able to take a life, she was too innocent. </p><p>“Do you think you could kill me, girl?” he drawled and felt the blade shake ever so slightly, still pressed to his throat. </p><p>Draco almost laughed; it was not the first attempt on his life. </p><p>On his way to ruling over this island, he endured opposition and disagreements, which was to be expected. No Norse King came to power by being polite and respectful, they could only allow kindness once they reached the top. They came to power by inciting fear, manipulating the masses and assassinating their opponents. But of all the attempts he endured, this was by far the bravest and most desperate one yet.</p><p>He swallowed and felt the blade pierce his skin ever so slightly. He opened his eyes and watched, entranced, a few droplets of blood as they slid down his pecs and abdomen, disappearing into the water.</p><p>He tipped his head back and looked right into the large brown eyes that were so overcome with terror he almost felt for her.</p><p>“What’s your name, girl?” </p><p>“What is it to you? You don’t need to know my name… If you’re going to use and destroy me, I’d rather not make it personal. I’d rather just be a face that is briefly present in your life, soon replaced when I have served my purpose…” </p><p>“Do you really think so little of us?” He grabbed her hand and with a quick maneuver of his wrist, the wench found herself falling right into his tub with a splash. She sputtered and flailed as she tried desperately to get up and away from his lap. He had to admit, he quite enjoyed having her there.</p><p>“You keep proving me right…” she panted when she finally found her footing. She was wet from head to toe, the light dress she wore was now soaked through and Draco couldn’t help but find himself enticed by the elegant curve of her hip and her perky breasts. He felt his cock slowly come to life as he appreciated every part of the girl before him. He swallowed hard as her nipples peaked through the sodden fabric, hardened by the cool air against the wet fabric.</p><p>Her fierce gaze was fixed upon him, her hatred and fear almost palpable as she stood before him panting, shaking with rage. </p><p>“That’s because you are so adamant to only see what you want to see,” he said and held a wet flannel to her, motioning to his wounded shoulder. It would take a while before she yielded and understood their ways. One last thought tumbled through his mind before he could stop it; <em> before she would be mine.  </em></p><p>She eyed him warily; her gaze raked over his tattooed shoulders and chest, and the long scars along his abdomen. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly when she noticed him watching her.</p><p>The fire in her gaze was mesmerising. </p><p>“My name is Draco, you should know since you are to serve me.” <em> Since you are to be mine. </em></p><p>“Sinceyou forced this life upon me, should I call you my Lord or, maybe Master since I’m nothing but a slave?” She looked at him defiantly and he felt the blood rush south as his manhood roared to life under her determined gaze.  </p><p>His thoughts ran amok in his head. He imagined pulling her into the tub and on top of him again. This time she would be a willing participant, of course. She would welcome landing on his lap - her core pressing onto his hardened member. He imagined her hands roaming shyly along the hard lines of his muscles and scars. He imagined his own hands snaking around her beautiful body, pinching those perky nipples after freeing them from the confines of her dress. Such an unnecessary garment... </p><p>He calmed his breathing as she approached and reluctantly took the flannel from his outstretched hand.</p><p>He imagined her touches to be featherlight, calming, arousing.</p><p>But they weren’t.</p><p>She pressed the cloth onto his open wound with all her might and he nearly yelped in pain - the little witch! He almost laughed. He got exactly what he deserved…</p><p>“My name is Hermione, but I wish you would not call me that,” she hissed in his ear and he felt the gooseflesh appearing on his neck where her warm breath grazed it. Her vicious moves calmed as she kept tending to his wound - still none too gently, but he didn’t mind any more. He was too focused on keeping his breathing level and not tilting his head to the side to give her better access as her warm breaths teased his flesh. </p><p>He gripped the edges of his tub as he forced his hands to stay in place as opposed to sliding underwater to tend to his painfully hard shaft. </p><p>How did she turn him into this mess with only her presence? This was unheard of. </p><p>But he didn’t care.</p><p>“What may I call you then?” he breathed, revelling in her touch as she directed the flannel along his arms and back. Her touches were harsh and hateful, but he had never felt so good. Since when was bathing so arousing? </p><p>“I would prefer you didn’t call me at all…” she replied, her voice like ice and he couldn’t help but chuckle.</p><p>“As you wish, lass…” He inclined his head in her general direction and got up from the tub. Her eyes widened and her lips popped open as he turned to face her, her open-mouthed stare focused on his proud cock.</p><p>His mind ran wild when he realised she was still kneeling by the tub. The images that flooded his mind almost made his knees buckle.</p><p>He stalked through the room, feeling her eyes on him as he moved.</p><p>She blushed furiously as Draco made himself comfortable on his large wooden armchair covered with pelts and furs and beckoned her to approach.</p><hr/><p>Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as he suddenly got up from the tub, splashing water over the floor, his long hair dripping and his muscles flexing as he stretched his arms above his head. She swallowed at the sight of the hard planes of muscles on his back, the little dimples in his lower back. Finally, it briefly paused on the shapely moons of his buttocks, before she blushed furiously and looked away.</p><p>She had never seen a naked man before. Why was it simultaneously so scary and so entrancing to see the water droplets slide down his sculpted features? The circles tattooed around his arms stretched and changed shape with every flex of his muscles. </p><p>Then he turned and she forgot to breathe. She cast her gaze down shyly, feeling a furious blush cover her cheeks and neck. But not before she saw the rest of him.</p><p>He looked like a piece of art, if she ever was to imagine one, a breathtaking sculpture made of flesh and bone. His chest was marred with scars and tattoos, his muscles so defined she could count them with her eyes closed, just by raking her fingers over them. She berated herself for how rampant she let her thoughts run. And below the V of his abdomen was his manhood, hard and bouncing against his belly. </p><p>She was ashamed of looking. It was indecent. It was against everything she was taught about humility and modesty.</p><p>He was the servant of the Devil, after all. He was here to corrupt her.</p><p>Yet she couldn't help but sneak another peak as he walked. Even the saints could be tempted by demons on occasion. And how was she, a mere mortal, to resist?</p><p>Draco reclined in his pelt-covered chair and fixed her with a hard stare. He was amongst soft furs and fabrics but he didn’t move to cover himself. Instead, he sat stretched, confident - like the self-proclaimed king that he was - and motioned for her to approach.</p><p>Her legs reacted before her mind and she moved across the room. The look he gave her was predatory, but she tried to keep her head high and not let her betraying eyes wander.</p><p>They did wander, though, and she could do nothing about it. She was trying to recall the men in her village, the way they dressed. How did they manage to cover themselves up?</p><p>Or did they not all look like this?</p><p>Draco looked at her with mirth and curiosity as she stumbled over her own two feet to stand by his side. She looked at an unspecified point over his head, willing herself to keep the rest of her dignity intact and not look down. Draco shifted, leaning a little over the armrest of his chair, his blonde locks just beneath her chin. But she didn’t want to look down.</p><p>“Do you know how to braid hair?” he asked casually and she nodded, then quickly berated herself - he couldn’t see her.</p><p>"Y-yes," she stuttered. He really was the Devil incarnate, she thought as her fingers fumbled with the comb he handed her, nearly dropping the offending piece. His imposing manhood was in her periphery for a moment longer, when he suddenly shifted and cleared his throat, and grabbed a pelt to cover himself.</p><p>Hermione finally let out a shaky breath she didn’t realise she'd been holding.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Find me on <a href="https://amarillis39.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you have any questions or just want to chat!</p><p>Any and all feedback is appreciated! Kudos and comments are better than pillaged gold and jewels, just saying!</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Massive thanks to everyone who commented, bookmarked, subbed and left kudos! I am incredibly grateful for the amazing response to this story so far!</p><p>So here is Chapter 3, or as I like to call it: Chapter in which Theo is a very patient and reasonable individual.</p><p>Also, big thanks and all the love to my alphabet (their patience and thirst for Viking!Draco are incomparable): <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis">Canttouchthis</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore">PTwritesmore</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas">ThusAtlas</a> ('Lore Master')</p><p>The songs excerpts are from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8OtzJtp-EM">Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin</a><br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <em> “We come from the land of the ice and snow </em>
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  <em> From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow </em>
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  <em> The hammer of the gods </em>
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  <em> Will drive our ships to new lands </em>
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  <em> To fight the horde, sing and cry </em>
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  <em> Valhalla, I am coming </em>
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  <em> On we sweep with threshing oar </em>
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  <em> Our only goal will be the western shore” </em>
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</p><p>The clash of swords and axes was deafening. The screams were bone-chilling. The smell of burning hay and thatch - suffocating.</p><p>It was simultaneously overwhelming and satisfying. It was familiar. Wreaking havoc and ruling over chaos was what he did best. Draco swung his weapon of choice - heavy longsword - and sliced through one of the armed monks. He closed his eyes just seconds before blood splashed his face. </p><p>This raid was not going as planned. It had been a surprise to find the village to be as well prepared as they were, with the monks and cooks readily taking up arms alike. They would prevail - they always did -  but their losses would be great. </p><p>Draco swirled gracefully and watched with satisfaction as the severed head of a villager hit the ground, spraying blood around the perimeter and mixing with the pools of plasma colouring the village square. </p><p>As he spun, his eyes landed on a curly haired girl, desperately trying to hold her own against one of his Jomsvikings. His heart leaped as he immediately thought of Hermione. </p><p>He felt like the fray froze around him as he watched the girl get pierced by the warrior’s sword. She collapsed to her knees and spat blood in the direction of her executioner. He tried to clear his mind, he knew it was not her. She was safe in Dragonsthrope. </p><p>It’s been days since he saw her last. She was still spiteful, but she didn’t actively try to murder him as he bathed or slept any more - unless she had been lying in wait, luring him into a false sense of security, patiently waiting for him to leave to begin plotting her next attempt. He almost chuckled; she was one of a kind, fierce and strong - unyielding. He thought she was conflicted, he didn’t believe she hated Dragonstrope as wholeheartedly as she tried to let on. She was receiving the best treatment amongst the Thralls, after all. </p><p>Draco refocused on the battle; he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not now. </p><p>He shook his head and reentered the mayhem. But his reflexes had been slowed because of the intrusive thoughts. He was not fast enough to dodge in time as one of the villagers charged at him. He tried to recover his stance but he was seconds too late as the man managed to sink his knife between his ribs. Draco yelped in pain but quickly managed to sink his sword into the stomach of his attacker. </p><p>The man collapsed onto Draco. The blond viking used his leg to push the body off of his sword and turned back towards the fight, clutching at his ribs.</p><p>Draco slashed furiously with his sword, forgetting about the throbbing pain in his side. They were outnumbered but they were Norsemen - unafraid and invincible. They fought with everything they had, just like they always did. If they had to die, they would die bravely, they would be deserving of the feast awaiting them in Valhalla.</p><p>After what felt like ages, after never-ending battle, after spilling rivers of blood, the village was finally theirs. But they too suffered losses.</p><p>Draco fell to his knees, supporting his weight on the sword clutched firmly in his grip, and rested his head on the pommel, trying to catch his breath. He hoped the treasure would be worth the losses. He tried to ignore the sharp pain in his side and the warmth of blood as it seeped from his wound. </p><p>Draco scanned the battlefield, ignoring his blurring vision. Bodies were scattered amongst the village, but he needed to know Theo was alive before he passed out. </p><p>“Th - Theo!” Draco’s voice was hoarse as he called out for his friend.</p><p>The uninjured Jomsvikings began gathering all those who were hurt and needed to be tended to. </p><p>The bodies of their fallen would be next to be taken care of. They were too far from Dragonsthrope to take them to their families to be properly mourned. They would wait until tomorrow, long enough for Freya and Odin to choose who will be taken to Fólkvangr, to rest forever in the meadow ruled by the beautiful goddess, and who will dine and feast in Valhalla, awaiting the final battle. After that they would be burned, and their ashes thrown into the sea; their strength and determination sacrificed to Njǫror for favourable winds and calm waters.</p><p>His eyelids were drooping but he <em> needed </em> to know Theo was alright. At least one of them had to survive - Draco wouldn’t trust anyone else to reign over Dragonsthrope. He lost balance as he was no longer able to support his weight on his longsword. </p><p>His vision darkened and he prayed to each and every deity there was for his friend and brother to be alive.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s been days since the warriors had gone. Since Draco had gone.</p><p>Hermione was relieved at first, when he boarded his ship alongside his raven-haired friend. This meant she was free from his haunting and imposing presence for the time being. This was a good thing. </p><p>She needed to collect her conflicting thoughts. </p><p>She hadn't appreciated, when Draco told her days that she should be grateful, that it was because she was treated so much better than the other slaves. But she saw now that they resented her for it.</p><p>Thralls were a close-knit society within the settlement. They worked hard to buy back their freedom - they were usually those taken in raids or those who had to sell themselves in order to pay their debts. Some of the younger Thralls were the orphaned or abandoned children. They were mostly treated with more respect than she expected. She understood what slavery was, and as far as her limited knowledge went, they were not supposed to get paid. They were used and treated no better than a cattle or a pig. Vikings treated them like humans - hard working but respected humans.</p><p>She was universally despised during the days Draco was gone. She loathed him for making her peers hate her. But on the other hand, she didn’t quite understand why he was so insistent on treating her differently. </p><p>She was very conflicted indeed. A tall, long-haired man, with the body of a god covered in swirling tattoos, was a constant presence in her thoughts and dreams. </p><p>He was like a poison seeping into her mind - darkening it.</p><p>“Jarl is not here, pretty girl. There’s no one to save you now from tending to the pigs.” Another thrall laughed before pushing Hermione into the pen. She fell on her hands and knees, splashing mud and animal feces on herself. She suppressed the gag reflex that shook her body, and got up, amongst the laughter that echoed around her.</p><p>She swallowed her pride and got to work.</p><p>Being thrown into a pig pen was not the worst that happened to her since Draco had gone. She was pushed, pinched, hit, and scratched on every turn; her hands still held the burn marks from having a cauldron tipped over when she had been on cooking duty in the Longhouse. </p><p>She was determined to finish the job she was assigned. She was not going to let her abusers win - she would prevail. </p><p>Hermione’s attention was pulled from her task by the commotion on the shore. She squinted in the afternoon sun and noticed the outline of something that faintly resembled a fleet of longships. Her traitorous heart lurched in her chest and started thumping wildly.</p><p>“Hey, you!” The Matron who was managing the slaves - the same one that greeted her on arrival - called for her, panic clearly written on her wrinkled face. Hermione had to restrain herself from giving her a triumphant smile; they all enjoyed their little adventure in abusing her but now that the Jarl was back, the weight of their actions dawned upon them. They knew Draco would ask for her specifically as he had done for weeks now. He would ask why her hands are marred with burn marks, and why her face bore remnants of bruises. “Come here, you stupid girl!” the woman shouted again and Hermione walked towards her, dragging her feet like a petulant child. She absolutely detested the horrid and rough matron.</p><p>Soon she found herself in a bath, being scrubbed viciously with the familiar rough flannel and winced in pain. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her treacherous thoughts. She shouldn’t be happy to see him. He took her from her home, after having it burned to the ground. He turned her into a slave. His heretic magic must have messed with her mind - that was the only logical explanation to the way her thoughts ran rampant.</p>
<hr/><p>“We’re almost home…” Theo murmured, brushing Draco’s sweat and blood-covered hair out of his face. His Jarl was barely conscious during their return home, the very few and far apart lucid moments were used by Theo to force some water and food down his brother’s throat. He had no doubt that Draco would survive this - they had both been through worse battle wounds. </p><p>He prayed to Nott, to the goddess that saved him; he prayed for her to save Draco, his friend, brother and Jarl. In a fever dream, the other man asked him to take his place. He asked for his body to be burned and his ashes thrown in the forest, to strengthen the sacred trees that grew there. Theo just shook his head and declined. It was not Draco’s time yet.</p><p>Theo was not ready to lead. He didn’t want to lead. </p><p>Draco was the one they all trusted to bring them to the gates of Valhalla. </p><p>Theo wanted to fight alongside his brothers in arms. But he didn’t want to lead them - he didn’t think he was trustworthy enough - even if Draco believed otherwise. </p><p>He belonged to the night. He thrived in darkness. All he wanted when he was not on the battlefield was a horn filled with mead and a warm bosom to rest his head on when the Night came. He had no intention to lead the life of tradition, no intention to marry and sire children. He spent his nights in the tavern or the Longhouse, seeking the warmth and company of women as well as a few men who were not opposed to the idea.</p><p>And he was selfish. </p><p>And in his selfishness he begged Odin, Thor, Nott, and even Loki and Hel not to take Draco away from him. </p><p>“Take care -” Draco tried to whisper something in the throes of fever, as the land before them started materialising; they were home at last. </p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>“T - Take care… o - of Hermione…” Theo’s eyes widened at the words that tumbled from Draco’s mouth. Hermione? The slave girl they dragged here from the Hebrides? </p><p>Who was this woman? </p><p>Why did she occupy Draco’s fever dreams?</p><p>Theo pushed the invasive thought to the back of his mind for now. Draco was a priority.</p><p>As soon as they moored, the Jarl was carried straight to the Longhouse. Theo ran towards the medic’s house and didn’t bother knocking as he slammed the door open and pulled the man out of his home. This was not the time for pleasantries. </p><p>The little man shook violently as he was dragged through the village. Theo didn’t care that the medic was probably convinced he was about to be punished for some heinous crime he didn’t commit. Heads were turning, crowds expecting that they would have to gather on the square soon to witness the beheading of the medic.</p><p>“Nothing to see here!” Theo shouted. The fear and respect he commanded making the villagers instantly fidget and cast their gazes elsewhere.  </p><p>Without saying anything further, he pushed the startled man into Draco’s rooms.</p><p>“Help him or you’ll die,” Theo snarled. He tried not to look at the still form of his brother and friend. His face was paler than usual, his breaths were short and shallow. Drops of perspiration covered his forehead and his lips moved silently as feverish dreams overtook his body.</p><p>Theo swallowed. He wanted to stay by Draco’s side but there was one more thing he had to do, so he turned on his heel and left the room. He stopped outside for a moment and tried to catch his breath. He hated the sick rooms, the dying, the heaviness of the air, the seriousness of the situation. </p><p>He sometimes wondered if what they did was right. But it was the only life he knew, so he cherished it and did his best to be chosen to strengthen the ranks of the army that wise Odin was building in Valhalla. They were Vikings, they were born to fight.</p><p>They were messengers of gods, they were warriors.</p><p>He swallowed and walked towards the Thrall Barracks.</p><p> </p><p>“You!” He stormed into the room where few slaves awaited their orders as the warriors arrived. The anxiety was almost palpable in the small space when he entered; they all knew something bad had happened, as Theo was rarely seen acting so out of sorts. He was known for how cold and collected he always was.</p><p>He walked towards Hermione, determined to understand. Other Thralls scampered out of his way. She took a few abrupt steps back when she saw his expression. “You! Come with me,” he shouted and didn’t give her much choice in the matter as he grabbed her by the hair and dragged from the room. He ignored the surprised stares of the remaining slaves, as well as Hermione’s cries of pain as she was pulled across the rough floor, squealing and scratching at Theo’s hand.</p><p>“Who are you, witch?” He threw her on the ground and advanced slowly as she scrambled backward. </p><p>“I’m Hermione. Smith’s daughter!” she cried in desperation as tears slipped down her cheeks. She covered her terrified expression with muddied hands, as if she expected him to raise his hand to her. The truth was, he wanted to, but the innocence of her watery stare stopped him in his tracks. He stared at her bruised and blemished arms as she trembled at his feet.</p><p>He crouched by her and pulled her to face him.</p><p>“What did you do to him, you poisonous witch?” he growled. </p><p>“To who?” she asked with a shaky voice. </p><p>“Draco!” he shouted and she recoiled. “You tainted his mind.”</p><p>“How would I do that? Who are you?” she was shaking as violent sobs tore through her petite body. He pulled her to her feet, still gripping her hair, and forced her to look him in the eye as he spoke.</p><p>“I am Theo Nottson, and you will answer me! What magic is that? Why is he calling for you in his fever dreams?” He shook her violently by the shoulders as he shouted.</p><p>“He’s calling for me?” her cries ceased as she watched him wide-eyed. She seemed so lost and innocent. She didn’t look like the evil seductress he thought her to be. He swallowed, searching her face for even a hint of darkness. But he found none. Her eyes were as pure as those of a newborn child. He almost drowned in the amber irises and he felt like the world ceased turning for a moment. <em> Was she trying to bewitch him too? </em></p><p>“You will go to him. You will take care of him. If he dies, I will have you gutted and spread for the crows to feast on in the middle of the square,” he growled and watched her face grow paler as the realisation hit her.</p><p>“W - what happened?” she whispered and clutched at his arm. The fear was still present in her expression but something that Theo couldn’t place his finger on, shifted. He expected her to beg for her life, instead she asked after Draco.</p><p>Could it be possible that she genuinely cared that Draco was hurt?</p><p>Was she really the poisonous snake he made her out to be? </p><p>Those questions would have to wait, Theo realised. He grabbed her and pulled her after him back into the Longhouse, straight towards Draco’s room. </p><p>“I meant what I said,” he hissed in her ear and she shivered. “He dies - you die too.”</p><p>She didn’t acknowledge him in any way as she almost ran towards the still figure splayed on the bed of pelts and furs, who was being tended to by the village medic.</p>
<hr/><p>She was still trembling in fear as the man who dragged her out of the barracks, and then accused her of unholy practices pushed her unceremoniously into the room. </p><p>He was terrifying with his piercing midnight blue eyes and raven hair. The runic tattoo on his left cheek was distinct against his pale skin, and a long scar ran vertically over his right eyebrow and cheek beneath. She’s seen him before, always at Draco’s side, but he rarely spoke. She saw him in darkened alcoves of the Longhouse as he pounded relentlessly into his companions of the night, but she never let her eyes linger. She was not a sinner, not like those people were. Hermione always averted her gaze when the warriors and their companions became too rowdy, focusing on filling up the ale in their cups and making herself scarce.</p><p>Theo left her standing amongst the chaos in Draco’s room. Instead of the familiarity of the warm interior, she felt dread tickle her consciousness. He knelt by the bed and gripped at Draco’s still arm. He looked up at the medic who was working tirelessly, with a demanding look. They exchanged some words Hermione didn’t understand; the elderly man nodded and left with a last glance towards an unconscious Draco.</p><p>Hermione took a hesitant step forward. She was afraid of what she would see the closer she got.</p><p>She gulped audibly and fixed her eyes on the unmoving Jarl. He was sickeningly pale, his cheeks hollowed and his breathing shallow and uneven. He was undressed, his bottom half covered with pelts. There was a cloth on top of his ribs, she could see the blood already beginning to seep through the clean gauze. </p><p>He was dying.</p><p>And if he did - so would she.</p><p>“You will report to me daily, girl!” Theo growled and his gaze flickered from concerned to sharp and threatening as he looked up from where Draco lay to look her in the eye.</p><p>She nodded quickly. Not trusting herself to speak as her eyes raked over the drops of sweat gathering on Draco’s temples. He was feverish. </p><p>Truth be told, she was unsure he would last the night. </p><p>She tended to the sick and hurt back in her village in Iona. She knew from her limited experience with those dying, that they could all try and be positive, only if he lived through the night. </p><p>And the odds for that were slim to none.</p><p>She was afraid for him. She knew she shouldn’t be - he took her away, poisoned her mind, after all. But she couldn't help but to be concerned - a tainted mind be damned. </p><p>She couldn't explain how her heart raced when she was near him. After weeks in Dragonstrope she was starting to become acquainted with their culture and social structure. It was not ideal; she found the crowd much more violent and passionate than what she was used to in her quiet life before. But she couldn’t help that there was something enticing and tempting in the lifestyle. </p><p>Norse men and women were ardent in their beliefs. They didn’t treat it like a chore, they didn’t fear their gods. They trusted them and worshipped them in the ways they found fitting. They were not forced to kneel in front of a golden cross and hear the monk or priest read from the same book over and over again. They thanked their gods when something good happened, they made sacrifices to them and they made peace with anything that went wrong. Like if it was all meant to be.</p><p>She began to catch herself thinking of the beautiful Freya and her golden tears, one-eyed wise Odin and powerful Thor. She began to fear the mischief that was caused by Loki.</p><p>She didn’t know what was wrong and what was right any more.</p><p>She feared to admit that the only thing that felt right was when she was in this room, with Draco. She still tried to resist her new role as his slave. She was defiant and fought against his sometimes ridiculous wishes. She sometimes wondered if he came up with all those requests only because he wanted her constant company, but she dismissed such thoughts. A small smile graced her lips when she recalled him requesting her to peel and slice apples just to feed him the little pieces, she was entranced when his eyes never left hers, and his tongue sweeped ever so delicately over her fingertips as he took the proffered bite. Hermione was horrified to find that she quite enjoyed braiding his long hair or sweeping the wet flannel along the hard planes of his muscles in the bath. </p><p>The other times, he was just going about his every day business of planning - or whatever it was he was doing when he stared at the map in front of him - or writing something in that language she didn’t understand. During feasts, he insisted she was stationed at the head table where he feasted with Theo and his advisors. She was to always be at his beck and call, even if he only had her stay put in the corner of the room.</p><p>She approached his bed when Theo left her alone with him. There was a weight in her chest and a tightness in her throat. Her hands shook as she reached for the flanel and wet it in the nearby bowl filled with water.</p><p>He moved ever so slightly and winced in his delirious sleep as she pressed the cold material to his burning-hot temple. She was mesmerised by the sharp features of his face, and her hand moved of its own volition to brush some stray sodden strands away from his forehead. She almost flinched away when he leaned into her touch. The strained muscles in his face relaxed when she dared to caress his cheek and temple.</p><p>She moved the cold flannel to his neck and clavicles, then back up to his face. She had to reduce the fever as much as possible if he was to ever wake up again. </p><p>It was too early for him to dine in Valhalla, she thought, and quickly berated herself for the heathen notions polluting her mind.</p><p>It felt like hours by the time his breaths evened out and the shivers of his feverish body subsided. It was already dark outside when Hermione allowed herself to stand up from his bed. </p><p>But a sudden, surprisingly strong, grip on her wrist stopped her in her tracks.</p><p>Shocked, Hermione turned towards Draco. He was looking at her wide-eyed, his stare glazed and unfocused. </p><p>“F - Freya… -” he breathed. Hermione was still, she was holding her breath. “B - Beautiful Freya, you came for me,” his voice was strained like it hurt him to speak. She reached for the cup filled with drinking water and dipped a fresh flannel in it before she wet his lips.</p><p>“Am I worthy, beautiful Freya? A- Am I worthy of Fólkvangr?” he managed and his hand on her wrist tightened.</p><p>She didn’t know what Fólkvangr was. She’s only heard of Valhalla so far, but she filed it away to ask Draco when he was lucid again. Because she was sure she would be able to ask him and soon. She would even swallow her pride and talk to him; he would be so amused if she started a conversation of her own volition. She almost chuckled as she imagined his amused expression.</p><p>“Yes, Draco. There is no other more worthy than you are,” she whispered and caressed his cheek again. He closed her eyes and she hoped he would stop hallucinating and sleep.</p><p>Sleep was important, she was told. People healed when they slept.</p><p>“Before you take me,” he breathed again, pulling Hermione so close she had to lean over him as he raised his head from the fur it was rested on. “Before you take me, please, Freya, promise me she will be safe…” he whispered and let his head fall back on the bed.</p><p>“W - Who?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.</p><p>“Her - Hermione…” he managed and his eyes rolled back before he fell unconscious again.</p><p>She stared stricken into his, now peaceful, face and didn’t even trust herself to breathe. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I got inspired by Theo's bad day and ended up writing him a little smutty one-shot <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823942">HERE</a></p><p>Find me on <a href="https://amarillis39.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you have any questions or just want to chat!</p><p>Any and all feedback is appreciated! Kudos and comments are better than pillaged gold and jewels, just saying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for all your comments/kudos/gifs and subs - I am constantly in awe of the amazing response to this story.</p><p>Please, please, please mind the tags. Some derogatory treatment of slave women will occur in this chapter. Also, some of the descriptions in the chapters may be found otherwise triggering. Please reach out if you're not sure about reading it and I'll answer all your questions.</p><p>All the love and thanks to the alphabet (even if I was being screamed at a lot throughout this chapter): <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis">Canttouchthis</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas">ThusAtlas</a> ('Lore Master')</p><p>Quick note to y'all. Chapter 2 now contains a beautiful artwork commissioned by my incredible Alphabet from the amazing <a href="https://eiramrelyat.tumblr.com">eiramrelyat</a></p><p>The songs excerpts are from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pu5kfeapEA">Swedish Pagans by Sabaton</a><br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"First to the battle, first to the feast<br/>
Destiny waiting, no retreat </p><p>(...)</p><p>Forged in Valhalla by the hammer of Thor<br/>
Out from Asgard, our Viking ship sails<br/>
Never to turn back again."</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hermione moaned when Draco moved sensually on top of her. His scars were illuminated by the moonlight seeping into the room and he looked almost ethereal. His silver eyes looked out of this world as he fixed her with a heavy gaze. His lips were parted, his breaths shallow and the way his muscles flexed when he moved made Hermione’s heartbeat quicken. The pleasure was so overwhelming, she dug her nails into the hard flesh of his shoulders… </em>
</p><p>Hermione woke suddenly with the moan escaping her lips and a shudder running down her spine. Her skin prickled, the unfamiliar warmth in her lower belly was enveloping her, threatening to burst. Her undergarments were soaked and she could feel the hot flush creeping up her cheeks - a blend of embarrassment and arousal.</p><p>She surveyed her surroundings in confusion; she was not in her cot in the Thrall Barracks. The room was familiar though, the smell of smoke and cedarwood invading her senses. She had fallen asleep on an uncomfortable chair, unnaturally bowed over the bed. Hot shallow breaths were teasing her face.</p><p>
  <em> Hot shallow breaths… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On her face. </em>
</p><p>She yelped and straightened so fast she almost fell over the chair she passed out on. </p><p><em> How shameful </em>, she berated herself. She was supposed to be taking care of the Jarl, not dreaming of indecent scenarios concerning the currently unconscious man. He looked more at peace than when she first saw him after having been brought back from that fateful raid. His face was relaxed, looking almost angelic and innocent. His breaths evened and the fever had diminished. He was no longer shivering and gripping her hand as if holding for dear life. She simultaneously cherished and mourned the lack of contact. He stopped calling her by the name of a goddess in his fever dreams. It meant he was getting better so surely, he wouldn’t need her any more.</p><p>It had been three days since she was dragged through the village by Jarl’s right-hand man. She still feared the angry and feral Viking but he seemed to be slightly calmer now, compared to that first day back. He seemed more collected and more in touch with his emotions. </p><p>She couldn’t really blame the man for his outburst on that fateful day, she supposed. She was afraid to admit that she was also terrified when she realised Draco hurt and nearly dying. She couldn’t even fathom what his best friend and brother must have been going through. </p><p>It did not justify threatening her life, making her fear she would die spread in the Blood Eagle’s deathly torture in the middle of the square for all to witness.</p><p>For all the times she justified the Norsemen in her mind, rationalizing their beliefs and practices, she couldn’t deny that their punishments and sacrifices, no matter how justified, were somewhat barbaric. But then she remembered that back home, some thieves were punished by having their hand chopped off and murderers were executed publicly -  the offender’s mutilated bodies would be left on display for all to see.</p><p>But the Blood Eagle… It was the most severe of punishments. If one dared to kill a Viking warrior, and their reasoning was deemed insufficient, this was what awaited the culprit. </p><p>It was one of the most terrifying things she’d ever seen - the murderer splayed between two poles like a horrid caricature of an eagle in flight, his back torn open and his lungs pulled out and displayed on his shoulders as mock wings. Everyone could see exactly when he took his last breath. Everyone would hear the screams as one’s back was torn open and their ribs snapped in the process. Some were lucky enough to die quickly, some watched in agony as their bodies were ripped apart. </p><p>That was the difference between the two worlds, but it was all just semantics. She had begun to realise that blood and murder was still blood and murder, no matter whether they were committed by Christians or Norsemen. Nobody was right in that war, everyone was guilty and everyone had their sins to atone for in another life. </p><p>It didn’t change the fact that on that day she had been afraid she would have her lungs ripped out of her chest for all to see. They would have pointed their fingers saying, ‘<em> She’s the slave who killed the Jarl. She deserves that and worse. May she burn and suffer in Hel.’ </em></p><p>But Draco had survived the night, then another, and then another after that.</p><p>And she was grateful for it. Not only because she got to live but because he did too.</p><p>What she appreciated about the community she was forced to live in was that they neither lied nor feared god's wrath. They loved their gods, they worshipped them, but they didn’t fear them; they were not trying to scare their children with God’s wrath for the smallest of offences. Even human sacrifices walked to the altar to be slain with confidence and hope in their eyes; they knew how much their gods appreciated their bravery.</p><p>They all deserved Valhalla or Fólkvangr. </p><p>And who was she to deem their stories heathen and fraudulent when she’d seen the reverence in which they believed in them. It made her question everything she was taught to believe.</p><p>So she stayed by Draco’s side for three nights, brushing his hair out of his temple, cleaning the wound, and pressing the cold flannel to his forehead. He talked to her in his fever dreams and she replied, she hoped he wouldn’t remember. When he called her Freya, gripping her hand desperately, she kissed his fingers and told him how worthy he was. When he begged her to take care of ‘Hermione’ she agreed, saying ‘Hermione’ was safe and waiting for him.</p><p>And she only just now realised that she didn’t lie.</p><p>But she knew they were just the fever dreams and only that. He wouldn’t remember.</p><p>Maybe that was for the better; she shouldn’t be having all these conflicting feelings about the man who captured and kidnapped her, after all. Surely there was something wrong with her. </p><p>She rubbed her thighs together, suddenly remembering the dream she woke up from just moments before. It was sinful to dream such dreams and to allow oneself to think of such things.</p><p>“Her - Hermione…” His voice was weak, but it was steadier than it has been in the few days since he was brought back. His silver eyes bore into hers and she suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. She stared into those mesmerising irises and time froze.</p><p>She didn’t say anything - she didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded and his lips curved into a small smile. Hermione’s heart leapt in her chest; she had seen Draco smirk on occasion but never smile like that. It was just a small grimace but it rendered his sharp features lighter and more approachable.</p><p>She had to fight herself to school her expression into disdain and indifference, so she wouldn't smile in return. The relief flooded her senses. Draco was lucid, the worst was over.</p><p>His hand snaked its way around her wrist. The gesture was familiar now, after the nights of his feverish dreams, and she tried to convince herself that she didn’t welcome his hot touch.</p><p>“I’ll get your right-hand man, he’ll be pleased to see you’ve recovered,” she whispered and swallowed hard, the lump that was forming in her throat under Draco’s heavy glances was making her even more uncomfortable and fidgety. Why did he look at her like that? Was he still delusional and seeing his goddess? She tried to delicately detach his fingers from around her wrist; anything to avoid looking in those impossibly silver eyes. “You gave us all a right scare, Jarl,” she managed; her tone light, her words forced. She tried to chuckle to soften the atmosphere, but the air between them was frozen. </p><p>Hermione stopped talking and reluctantly let herself get lost in Draco’s eyes. She never knew there were so many shades of grey. They shone like the molten silver of the pillaged goods when he was focused on his task. They burned like the warm bonfire smoke when he spoke to Theo, and when his temper flared and his anger raged, his eyes darkened to a midnight storm. She was lost in the depth of his stare, he didn’t even blink, just looked at her, mouth agape.</p><p>His eyes were now so bright, illuminated by the torch on the wall, that he looked otherworldly. They were the colour of the full moon and just as intense and mesmerising. </p><p>When he didn’t reply, she tried to get up, leave the room and wake Theo. Anything to dissolve the palpable tension </p><p>He must still be feverish, she decided. Otherwise, he would have already quipped about her trying to kill him in his sleep, or tried to get a rise out of her by making her bathe him again. She shuddered at the thought of him getting out of the tub in all his naked glory. She had to school herself from imagining running her fingers over the hard muscles of his abdomen, all the way down…</p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p>His hand, still clasped around her wrist, tugged her back down, effectively preventing her from leaving the room. But he didn’t stop there, he pulled her even closer.</p><p>“Hermione,” he repeated, his face was now centimetres away from her and she forgot how to breathe. His breath caught in his throat as his striking eyes travelled to linger on her parted lips. </p><p>A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine and she waited, frozen.</p><p>Draco’s eyes never left her face as his hand snaked its way up her forearm, to her shoulder. Then it teased the curve of her neck ever so slightly only to gingerly cup her face, like he was not entirely sure how to be gentle, but he was trying. His fingers were rough and calloused, but she leaned into the touch nonetheless. His thumb brushed at her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed at the simple touch. </p><p>It was getting harder by the minute to fight her body’s reactions to the man. </p><p>Even when their lips connected, she tried to convince herself it was unnatural. </p><p>And when she moaned against his soft lips, never quite having felt anything so delightful, she tried to convince herself that it was wrong.</p><p>His hand cupped the back of her head and angled her just right to deepen her exploratory kisses. He tasted her lips, awakening, awakening the dozens of butterflies asleep in her stomach. And even as she delighted in the feeling, she tried to convince herself that what she felt was the poison, driven and controlled by the heathen Norseman.</p><p>She squeaked as he suddenly sat up and pulled her flush against him, never breaking the kiss.</p><p>He pulled at her hair and tipped her head back. She opened her mouth, ready to keen again under his touch, but he swallowed the noise when his tongue dove into her mouth and collided with her own. </p><p>She gripped his shoulders and held for dear life. Her nails dug into the hard planes of his muscles, the sensations that tore through her body for the first time in her life were overwhelming and all-consuming. She sighed into his mouth and allowed her own tongue to move and work in tandem with Draco’s ministrations.</p><p>He groaned, deep in his throat and pulled her even closer. Impossibly close. But she moulded into him like it was where she was always meant to be.</p><p>She was sitting sideways atop him, her fingers buried in his soft locks; the chair she was sitting on before, long forgotten. He was pulling her closer still, one of his hands pulling at her hair, the other tracing gentle circles on the small of her back.</p><p>Her head spun, she was drunk from his touch. He adjusted her, and she sighed again when his hot lips moved to the pulse point on her neck, and she let out another needy moan that she should have been ashamed of. She wiggled on his lap as something hard and persistent kept poking into her thigh. </p><p>“D-Draco…” His name sounded foreign on her lips and he groaned into her open mouth.</p><p>He exhaled shakily and gripped her thighs to stop her movement, his tongue darting to tease the spot behind her ear and she keened, throwing her head back and giving him better access.</p><p>He laid back on the pillows, as if the strength he possessed just moments ago, suddenly left him. He winced into the kiss, and she realized he must still be in excruciating pain.</p><p>It sobered her up. <em> What was she doing? </em></p><p>She was giving in to the temptation. She was doing everything she was told she couldn’t do as she was growing up. She was now officially a sinner, but why did it feel so good to fall from grace? Is that what Lucifer felt when he plunged himself from heaven in pursuit of the love of his life?</p><p>Hermione squealed and jumped up, moving away from the bed just as Draco’s hand was making its way under her linen dress, his rough fingers leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. She pulled at her clothes and hair, desperately trying to pull herself back together. Her breaths were quick and shallow as if she had run for miles, and the hot coals in her belly burned with desire for the blonde man. </p><p>Draco lay in his bed wide-eyed. His hair was tousled and his lips red and swollen; she briefly wondered if she looked just as dishevelled as him. His eyes shone brighter than she’d ever seen and she lost herself in their depth for another moment.</p><p>But what they did was wrong. She had to get out of there.</p><p>“Hermione…” he said again. Why did her name on his tongue make her burn with such need? What was happening with her?</p><p>She ran out of the room, in a desperate hope to retain the shreds of her good conscience and innocence, ignoring another whisper of her name.</p><p>Hermione stopped in the main dining hall to catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard it was almost painful, but it didn’t stop the hot streams of tears. She didn’t know if she was crying for her lost innocence as the heathen notions invaded her mind,or if she cried from desperation and regret for not allowing herself to want and be wanted.</p><p>Surely it was just the fever. He wouldn’t remember anything tomorrow. </p><p>She couldn’t get attached; she was just a slave after all. She would be replaced soon when she served her purpose and the Jarl would cease being amused by her company. </p><p>After taking a few deep breaths, she made her way to Theo Nottson’s quarters. He threatened her with death several times, after all - she was bound to tell him that Draco was now much better. And hopefully, she would be left alone then, so she could berate herself forever for losing her restraint and letting Draco Luciusson corrupt her even further; all that without having to see him ever again.</p><p>Hermione was so deep in thought that she did not pay any attention to the noises coming from Theo’s quarters. </p><p>She froze in her tracks as she entered his bedroom. He was not alone.</p><p>Truthfully, she should have expected that. Theo was rarely alone. </p><p>He pushed the woman, who was moving wildly on top of him and moaning way too loudly, away and turned to Hermione, not even bothering to cover himself as he stretched his long lithe body and fixed her with a sharp glare. She briefly allowed herself to wonder if none of the Norsemen had any decency and humility left in them. </p><p>Hermione blushed furiously as her own body betrayed her again, and she raked her eyes over the tattoos that covered the better portion of Theo’s chest.</p><p>“Speak!” he hissed, ignoring the woman by his side who was trying to regain his attention by wrapping her lips around Theo’s hard length. He pushed her away without care and leapt to his feet.</p><p>“He is awake and lucid now. I believe he will recover,” she spoke quietly. She didn’t know how to address the man before her, not wanting to risk his wrath again. He didn’t seem to particularly care as long as she brought good news. </p><p>He nodded and began getting dressed; the woman in his bed long forgotten. Once he was decent, he walked out of the room towards where Draco’s quarters were located. Hermione shared a moment of awkward silence with the naked and confused woman that the Viking abandoned. Not sure how to proceed, she inclined her head and practically ran from the room. </p><p>She wanted to hide forever.</p>
<hr/><p>Draco was still panting hard; he touched his lips, trying to keep the feel of her soft kisses on them forever, with shaking hands.</p><p>The pain in his side was now almost unbearable; he winced and pressed his palms to the clean fabric covering his mauled skin and let himself fall limp on the pillows and furs. He was out of control; the girl was a constant presence in his mind. Just the thought of her on the battlefield nearly got him killed. </p><p>He was dreaming of her soft pink lips in his half lucid fantasies. But he never imagined them to taste so divine or to mould so perfectly to his own.</p><p>But then she ran away.</p><p>He nearly died because of his toxic interest in her; he needed a distraction. Draco groaned and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw white. He needed to get himself back under control. </p><p>“Draco!” Theo’s excited voice brought him back to reality. Just the person he needed; nobody knew how to distract him from his worries better than the Son of the Night. His right-hand man, best friend and brother, could feast and entertain just like the god of wine and ale, Aegir himself. “Are you well?” Theo asked as he approached and laid a hand on Draco’s temple. “You are burning up,” he stated.</p><p>Draco didn’t feel like divulging the reason why he was currently burning up, but he knew it had absolutely nothing to do with the fever. “It’s nothing,” he said instead, brushing Theo’s hand away from his temple. “I want to make a sacrifice in thanks to Eir for her blessings, I want to feast, my friend.”</p><p>Theo gave him a long look, he knew there was more to it but he nodded nonetheless. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow we will feast and thank the gods. We will mourn those we lost and honour those who survived. We will celebrate our Jarl for defying Hel once again.”</p><p>They stayed in silence for a little while longer, until Draco’s exhaustion took over and his eyelids drooped as sleep overtook him. </p><p>The night passed with Draco tossing and turning, his dreams were filled with sounds of Hermione’s surprised breathy moans, the feel of her hands in his hair and her nails digging into his shoulders.</p><p>He woke up covered in sweat and painfully hard. He desperately tried to will himself into forgetting about the girl as he soaked his aching body in a cold bath. </p><p>For the remainder of the day, he simply went through the motions, distracted as his slave was nowhere to be seen. In any other circumstance, the slave would be severely punished for not showing up on their post. But he felt like some space could be just what they both needed. He accepted congratulations on his recovery, he paid his tributes to the fallen warriors and visited their families, offering condolences and help should it ever be needed. </p><p>A  sacrifice had to be made to the gods. And so, he killed and bled a boar for Eir, thanking her for his recovery and good fortune. It felt cathartic and liberating; the weight in his chest felt lighter and the overwhelming regret, that so many brave souls had perished - lessened. If Eir kept him alive, it was meant to be. A lone tear ran down his cheek as he knelt by the altar and hung his head low in remembrance to those who didn’t make it back. He dipped his fingers in the bowl where the blood dripped and ran it across his face as he praised the goddess. Then he paid his respect to all of their other godly protectors for leading them in battle and allowing them to reap the rewards; he ran his bloodied fingers across his face with every praise and prayer. </p><p>Covered in blood and bowed low, he begged his godly protectors for good fortune. He begged them for health and prosperity.</p><p>He prayed for Valhalla and for those who passed and for those who still walked the earth.</p><p>And he felt clean and content. The gods would grant him his wishes.</p><p> </p><p>It was finally time for the Dragon Clan to celebrate the raid and those who recovered with a revel.</p><p>The feast was busting with life, the ale was flowing endlessly and the minstrels sang praises to the gods and the brave Norse warriors. The tables were laden with food, fruits and beverages for all to indulge. The crowd was becoming more rowdy as the night wore on, the slaves were refilling the mead and wine, some of them pulled onto the laps of participating men, some willingly some not so much. </p><p>Draco sat reclined in his chair at the head of the room, his legs stretched in front of him and his head rested on his fist. The Thrall by his side refilled his cup, and he took a hearty swig as he tried to ignore the constant pain in his side. His eyes scanned the room, unconsciously in search of the wild brown curls in the hubbub.</p><p>He barely paid attention to the music, the shouts and voices becoming white noise in the background. </p><p>Why was Hermione nowhere to be seen? And why were the thoughts of her so overwhelming? He needed a distraction.</p><p>Another scan of the room revealed Theo at one of the tables, leaning on the chair with his head tipped back as one of the Thralls was pouring ale down his throat from the ceramic jug. One of his hands was firmly grasping the woman’s buttock. </p><p>Draco smirked and motioned to the slave that was attending to him. </p><p> </p><p>Moments later he was in his quarters, sounds of the feast somewhat muffled. He sat on his bed, leaning on the mountain of furs, skins and pillows. The pain in his side was still debilitating, but as he looked down at the two slaves kneeling between his parted legs, the pain subsided a little bit.</p><p>His breath quickened as they started working in tandem on divesting him of his clothing, and then licked along his quickly hardening length, their tongues meeting where they teased the underside of his cock.</p><p>This was perfect, he was not thinking about the curly-haired goddess who ran away from him the day before. He did not imagine that it was her tongue massaging his balls and her hand pumping his throbbing erection. </p><p>This was a perfect distraction - he congratulated himself on the idea. This was exactly how one got rid of intrusive thoughts of beautiful women who dared to run away from his waiting arms.</p><p>Maybe she was scared of him? The thought crossed his mind and he sat up straighter. She should have known by now that he would never have hurt her.</p><p>He threw his head back and closed his eyes as one of the slaves hollowed her cheeks and sucked his length all the way into her skilled mouth. The sensation of hitting the back of her throat nearly sent him over the edge. It was almost too much when the other woman cupped his balls and scratched at his abdomen.</p><p>This was magnificent, and exactly what he needed.</p><p>His muscles tensed involuntarily and he groaned; suddenly in a blinding pain.</p><p>The girls didn’t cease their attention, probably assuming it was a shout of pleasure. He tried to even out his breathing but it was all for naught. The moment was gone, the girls’ ministrations no longer brought him any relief.</p><p>He kept imagining Hermione on her knees between his legs instead.</p><p>Draco closed his eyes and precariously leaned back, trying so desperately, to enjoy himself. Those sort of distractions always worked before. </p><p>
  <em> Forget about her. Forget about those golden eyes and those pink lips.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She’s scared of you. </em>
</p><p>He looked in sheer horror at his deflating manhood and the surprised expression of the girl that currently worked her small hand and lips over it. </p><p>His thoughts wandered to Hermione against his will again. He was out of control; he’s never been so conflicted in his entire life. </p><p>What kind of magic was that? </p><p>He tried to focus on the girls. He had to admit, it was pleasant to have his cock buried deep in the throat of the blonde slave and his balls teased by the redheaded one. It should have felt glorious to be ravished in such a way. And truthfully, it did - but there was something missing. </p><p>Draco willed his body to relax and he laid back on his bed with a contented sigh. It felt good. He was distracted. He felt himself hardening again, he was just a man after all, and those girls were uncommonly skilled and determined to bring him to the brink of ecstasy. The conflict in his mind was one thing, but the pleasure that pooled low in his belly was another thing entirely.</p><p>The redheaded girl climbed atop him and lined his cock with her warm centre. He groaned in time with her loud moan as she sank onto his length in a swift movement. </p><p>He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, lest he would look into the girl's eyes and disappoint himself for seeing the blue irises instead or the pure molten gold. </p><p>The girl started moving sensually atop him and his thoughts ran amok. He wanted to cry out her name.</p><p>
  <em> Hermione. </em>
</p><p>It felt good. It really did. He grabbed the girl’s thighs.</p><p>He was so close; the image of Hermione’s pert breasts bobbing up and down as she rode him, her peach skin dotted with drops of perspiration drove him to the edge. </p><p>Draco groaned deep in his throat, “Hermi - “</p><p>A crash of broken pottery and a silent ‘<em> oh </em>’ pulled him out of his blissful state. He sat up so suddenly that the girl on top of him almost toppled over, but he ignored her indignant huff as he unceremoniously pushed her away and back on the furs covering his cot. </p><p>Draco got up, way too fast for his wounded state, and steadied himself against the wall as a bout of dizziness overtook him. He ignored the blood that immediately soaked the clean gauze on his ribs.</p><p>“Leave,” he barked in the general direction of the two women and walked out of the room as fast as he was able to, hoping to catch whomever intruded on his attempts at distraction. Deep inside, he knew who it was, he would recognise that voice anywhere. It was the same angelic voice that led him through his fever dreams. The same voice that anchored him when he felt like he was falling into the endless pit of Hel. </p><p>He caught a glimpse of curly brown hair as she weaved through rowdy Jomsvikings indulging in the finest ale and food. </p><p>And something snapped deep inside Draco as he watched her retreating form.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Find me on <a href="https://amarillis39.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you have any questions or just want to chat!</p><p>Any and all feedback is appreciated! Kudos and comments are better than pillaged gold and jewels, just saying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, so this is it. Arrow in the Air officially ends today.<br/>Thank you so much for sticking around! The response I received on this fic exceeded my wildest dreams and expectations.<br/>If you would like to see some more Viking Draco or Theo content, please subscribe to the Arrow in the Air Universe series as I plan on writing several more one-shots in the future. Stick around for more Dramione and NottPott! </p><p>Biggest love and thanks to the Alphabet! <br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis">Canttouchthis</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas">ThusAtlas</a> ('Lore Master')<br/>The Viking Dramione wouldn't have happened without them!</p><p>Quick note to y'all. If you've been with the story since day one you may not know that Chapter 2 now contains a beautiful artwork commissioned by my incredible Alphabet from the amazing <a href="https://eiramrelyat.tumblr.com">eiramrelyat</a></p><p>The songs excerpts are from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PR6YMIbbV2A">Valhalla by Black Sabbath</a><br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Valhalla, you can feel it in the air<br/>Valhalla, oh you better beware, better beware<br/>Valhalla, you can see it in his face<br/>Valhalla, oh he's the master of this place</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was claustrophobic, the darkness suffocating and overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she ran away from the scene unfolding in Draco’s room, she tried to find solace in her cot in the empty Thrall barracks. With everyone attending the feast, the rooms were empty. She closed her eyes and curled on a hard surface, but the sleep just wouldn’t come; the image of Draco splayed on the bed with the two slaves taking turns to pleasure him replayed in her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fist connected with the rolled-up pelt that she was using as a pillow and she stifled an angry scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was happening to her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely, she shouldn’t be surprised. He was the Jarl after all, and she was just a mere slave. She couldn’t possibly expect that he would give her a second thought after she ran away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she just couldn’t help the way thousands of butterflies fluttered to life every time he spared her a glance. She couldn’t help the tremble in her fingers every time he graced her with that amused smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, after having kissed him, she was restless. She shouldn’t have let that happen, he was still delusional. She was convinced he didn’t even realise it was her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to shake the intrusive thoughts from her mind but the way he whispered her name and the way he moaned into her open mouth were now forever etched in her brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was doomed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tossed and turned for hours, and when sleep still refused to claim her, she got up and walked out of the barracks. The sunlight was gingerly poking above the horizon. Dragonsthorpe was basked in the pinkish hues of the early morning light - not a single soul was in sight. It was almost the perfect picture of peace, if not for the muffled sounds</span>
  <span> of the feast that was slowly drawing to a close in the Longhouse</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione let out a shaky exhale and shuddered in the morning breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked through the quiet narrow paths, marvelling at the difference between the day’s noise and hubbub and the tranquillity of the predawn hour. But even that did not bring her peace. Her hands itched for something to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes wandered towards the target practice tucked away on a little clearing behind the Longhouse. It was hidden from prying eyes. Surely nobody was planning on shooting a bow at this time after a revel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, she could just be punished for her insubordination. She couldn’t bring herself to care either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picked a bow from the stack nearby and tentatively nocked the arrow in its rest. She tried to calm her breathing and aim as she pulled on the string; the bow positioned across her chest, and her feet spread for balance, but her hands just wouldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus on the arrowhead. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hold your breath.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before she released the string. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Trust your instincts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The swish of the arrow in the air broke the almost eerie silence and embedded itself in the target with a heavy thud. Way off the mark. She was out of practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot tears were streaming down her cheeks and a desperate sob was threatening to escape her throat. Why did she cry for him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to aim another arrow when the sound of soft steps froze her in place. Now she would be punished, this was what her life has become. She was raised to fear the heavenly wrath. But now she knew that the only punishments were inflicted by men. And in the community where she was the lowest among men, she was about to suffer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would the physical pain dull the pain she felt deep within?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hung her head low without looking up at the person and awaited her fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should focus on the target.” The deep voice of Draco made her heart thump wildly in her chest; her body betraying her against her better judgement. Every part of her was on fire when he was near and it scared her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It terrified her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She processed his words again. Why was he giving her shooting advice instead of dragging her back to the barracks and reporting her to the elderly matron?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t reply and instead tried to grasp the bowstring with her trembling fingers. She finally drew it to lay against her cheek in order to still her shaking hands. He took another step in her direction; his proximity was overwhelming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione slowed her breath as she focused on finding the best moment to release the string and fixed her attention on the target. She let the arrow fly and watched it with dismay as it hit far off the mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jarl shuffled another step closer. “I want you to be free,” he said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” She turned to him and he froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you don’t deserve this,” he whispered. He opened and closed his lips several times as if he wanted to say more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione drew another arrow. “So what </span>
  <em>
    <span>do I</span>
  </em>
  <span> deserve then? To become a beggar on your streets? To become one of those women you entertain yourself with?” she cried. She wanted to scream. “I have nothing to my name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You took everything away from me and now you just want me to be free?” She turned to him with the bow still drawn and he flinched and took a step back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he whispered and she lowered the bow. “I - I was hoping you would like to become a shieldmaiden. Fight by my side…” he suddenly sounded unsure. Not like the Norse Jarl she’d come to know. </span>
  <span>If she didn't know better, she'd think he was unsure of himself by the way he shifted</span>
  <span>. “Please,” he added desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she asked again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What happened to the ruthless Jarl? She didn’t take him for a begging type. Surely there was something in it for him. Maybe he just didn’t want her by his side and serving him any more? He poisoned her mind, he corrupted her body and surely now he wanted another innocent soul to pollute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because - Because I want you by my side,” he managed. “But I don’t want you as a slave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him, mouth agape. He couldn’t mean… No, it was a figment of her imagination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you understand?’ he continued, his voice growing in desperation, he sounded raw and bare; his voice shaky and unsure. Nothing like the self-proclaimed King of Norsemen. “I want you by my side always. But I want you to have a choice... “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you suppose you’re giving me a choice now?” she seethed. “What is it? Slavery, selling my body for a bowl of food and living on the street or becoming one of your warriors? Thank you, Jarl - for your kindness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another arrow swished through the air and embedded itself in the tree behind the target. Hermione’s hands shook too much to be able to aim at all. Frankly, she didn’t care about hitting the wooden board anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew another arrow and turned towards him, flexing the string and aiming the arrow at his face. He took several steps back, but his eyes never left hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should just end this all here?” she asked and blinked furiously at the tears obscuring her vision. “I’ll kill you and then I’ll die. The choice is made for me either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would probably deserve it.” His voice was barely a whisper when he stepped closer. So close that the arrowhead was pressed against his broad chest. Hermione took a shuddering breath and lowered the bow. Another sob wracked her body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an impossible choice but she so wanted to say yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Hermione. Let me teach you to be a warrior. Fight by my side…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione considered her options for a moment. Was she capable of bloodshed and murder? Was she capable of fighting against the worshippers of the God she was raised to love and fear?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure of that. But she was sure she didn’t want to be a slave. She wanted to feel strong. She could no longer deny her vain desire to be treated like the warriors were; like a god in human form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was now a sinner after all. She craved and desired. She disobeyed. Her mind and body polluted and darkened by her wants. Her only absolution - Valhalla.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will fight,” she stated and dared to look up to meet his eyes. The silver in his irises melted with anticipation and a flicker of hope causing her breath to catch in her throat. “But remember that it is only because you’ve given me no other choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An arrow embedded itself in the ground between Draco’s parted legs as he remained, unmoving in front of her. He flinched and let out a shaky breath when she turned around and walked away.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Days passed and Draco couldn’t hold himself back from watching Hermione practice. She was fierce and determined. He was right all those months ago when he thought about her being an excellent shieldmaiden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo was by his side and watching him incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are so many fine sheldmaidens. So many fine daughters of warriors. Why her?” Theo asked while absently stroking Fafnir’s soft white fur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco turned to his friend. “I don’t comment on nor do I judge your choices, Son of the Night,” he said and they fell silent once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo faltered briefly and searched Draco’s face. He couldn't possibly believe that Draco wouldn’t know of his night escapades with the potter boy. It was not a novelty in Norse society but it was not common either. They were all allowed to love who they did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As painful as it was sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Draco learned that there was more to pain than just physical wounds. The feeling that tore at every fiber of his being was unbearable. He would rather take another arrow to the chest than yearn so deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted her to have a choice. He wanted to give back what he took from her. And if her choice was to leave him breathless and hopeless - so be it. He could do it. For her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s just - ” he started and tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat, “- just different,” he managed and Theo nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how you feel. I do,” he whispered and looked away. Draco recognised the same hurt and yearning in his friend’s midnight blue eyes that he’d seen in himself as he looked at his reflection in the stream this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even fearless warriors were immune to the flimsy desires of the heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another long silence enveloped them as they watched the shieldmaidens’ practice from their perch on the fallen tree in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t need more words to communicate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed there for hours, until the sun descended beneath the horizon and the women began to disperse. There was only one left, still clutching the practice sword and swinging it against the wooden dummy. Theo gave Draco another long look before he stood up and left in the direction of the pottery shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco couldn't help it as his lips quirked in amusement</span>
  <span>. After a moment, he got up and walked towards Hermione, revelling in the soft whimpers that left her mouth as she fiercely sliced, slashed, and parried, fending off the imaginary attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to adjust your grip,” he said quietly and she started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you watching me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her for a moment, considering his answer. “Your grace and determination are mesmerising. And I’m a weak man…” He stepped closer to her and</span>
  <span> noted the slight shudder of her shoulders in reaction to his proximity.</span>
  <span> He covered her small hand with his and moved it along the grip of the sword for a better hold. “So weak,” he whispered in her ear and she whimpered. “You have to widen your stance, you will lose your balance otherwise,” he murmured as he positioned himself behind her, his hand still covering hers, and nudged her foot further to the side. She leaned into his touch for the briefest moment before she straightened herself. “Just like that,” he breathed, his lips mere inches from her ear, and watched the goose flesh appear on her reddened cheek with primal delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He guided her movements to swing the sword lightly. “See, that’s better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was exhilarating to hold her in his arms. He really did want to help her in her practice but he couldn’t deny that he was a selfish man. He would do anything to get closer to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to practice with me?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself. She turned to look at him and he got lost in the depth of her amber eyes, shining in the golden hues of the sunset. She nodded, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and he had to physically restrain himself from tracing it with the pad of his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reluctantly stepped away from her and picked up a sword. They faced each other and then she struck with all the fierceness of a seasoned warrior. She wielded the weapon with confidence as she swirled and slashed at him. She didn’t hold back. He parried every action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swung the sword again and he twisted, trapping her in his hold. “Remember what I said before?” he breathed. “You have to watch your footwork.” He smiled wickedly and worked his leg between hers. “Otherwise, this could happen.” With one swift movement she lost her footing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she was a fighter and he knew that. He should’ve expected that she would fight to the last breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she was falling she hooked her leg behind his knee and he followed her to the ground. He fell on top of her with a thud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay on the grass in a heap of limbs and laboured pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world around them froze as they stared into one another’s eyes. Her chest heaved, molding perfectly to him, and he lowered his face until their foreheads met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many sleepless nights he spent imagining how she would feel splayed beneath him. So many dreams he had dreamt of how her petite frame would fit against him. The memory of that kiss they shared never left him. He was unsure if he could think about anything else at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for her to push him away. He waited for her to threaten to shoot him again. He would deserve it after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those tantalising eyes of hers were fixed on his and he couldn’t hold back any more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the distance between them and crashed his lips onto her waiting ones. They were as soft as he remembered. Inexperienced and innocent but fierce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let out a soft whimper and her fingers wound in his hair. Her nails scraped at his scalp in the most delicious torture as she pulled him impossibly closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pried her soft lips open and let his tongue explore her waiting mouth, and she moaned at the new sensation. It was liberating. It was better than he’d ever dreamt. He buried his hands in her soft locks. It was not his feverish imaginations from that fateful day weeks ago. Her hair really felt like the finest silks they brought from their raids. He angled her face to deepen the kiss and she let out another breathy moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was done for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the sweetest sound that ever graced his ears and he swore then that he would make it his life’s calling to elicit those sounds from her for eternity. Because eternity in her arms was what he wanted. He knew that now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were not enough riches in the world to equal this feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco…” He could die now. He didn’t want to die a hero in battle any more. He wanted to die in her arms as she pushed her body closer to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Hermione…” he breathed into her lips and lowered his face to rest in the crook of her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgave you long ago,” she whispered and let her fingers wander, caressing his face and neck with light touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could stay entwined with her on that patch of grass forever if he was given a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took all strength he possessed to disentangle himself from her arms and get up. She accepted his offered hand and got up to stand. Her eyes still shone with passion when she looked up at him, breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cradled her face and brushed his lips against hers again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get some rest, Hermione.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood there, watching her walk away, and when she turned around and gave him a long look, his heart soared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe there was hope?</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The anticipation before the raid was incomparable to any other feeling. The fear of the unknown was exhilarating and the desire to pillage was overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would sail again tomorrow. And Hermione was coming with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the warriors were reluctant of her participation, but he was the Jarl after all. His word was final. He trusted her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sacrifices were made that evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched, entranced, as Hermione dipped her deft fingers in the bowl filled with deer’s blood and hesitantly ran it across her face. Her expression was relaxed and determined; a perfect picture of poise and grace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She passed the dish to another person and made to walk away to join the other shieldmaidens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when she turned to look at him, he forgot how to breathe. She looked ethereal. Her wild hair skillfully braided on both sides of her head. Her amber eyes shone like gold in the dim light of torches spread around the altar. Her lips were red and swollen, and Draco exhaled a shaky breath, remembering that he was the reason for that. She looked like a goddess of war with the smudge of blood smeared across her face. She looked like Freya, ready to ride to war in her chariot, with her loyal boar by her side. He wanted to give his earthly goddess her own cloak of falcon feathers only to watch it slip from her shoulders when he claimed her lips. He wanted to give her her own </span>
  <span>Brísingamen made of fire and amber, only to trace the shape of her throat and clavicle with his lips and tongue as he fastened it around her neck. He wanted to worship her until the end of his days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath hitched in his throat when she walked past him to rejoin the warriors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes as he lay on his bed that night. He wanted to see her before they sailed away so much, it hurt. He sent for her but she didn’t show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not an order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He promised to always give her a choice after she agreed to fight by his side. And she chose not to come to him. He had to make his peace with her decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But why did it hurt so much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars. He remembered how her body felt pressed against his when she let him pull her into the darkened corner of the Longhouse just that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was leaving him breathless. Kissing him into near oblivion and then leaving him stranded and wanting. She was leaving him panting and needing her more with every second she graced him with her presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was expected of the Jarl to just take what he wanted to be his. But he didn’t want her to be an object. He wanted her to want him as he did her. He wanted her to burn for him as bright as he did for her. He wanted her to choose him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he waited until she decided to become his. As he was already hers - completely and unequivocally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sent for me, Draco?” Her quiet voice reverberated through the room, and the weight in his chest suddenly lessened. She came to him. The relief flooded his body and he let out a shaky breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was up and across the room in a heartbeat. She gasped as she suddenly found herself in his arms and pressed against his chest. “I thought you wouldn’t come…” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers, uncaring of how eager and vulnerable he sounded. He didn’t care any more; she was here, she was in his arms and he never wanted to let go of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I -” He didn’t let her finish. He slanted his lips on hers and kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do. His entire body was on fire as he grabbed the hair on the nape of her neck and tilted her head to deepen the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her tongue met his and he was not ashamed of the desperate moan that left his lips. She swallowed the sound and wove her hands into his locks as she stood on her tiptoes. She kissed him with passion and reverence and he let himself burn for her with every fiber of his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was divine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked her up, not breaking the kiss, and carried her to his bed. He laid her gently amongst the furs and froze as he admired her. Her hair splayed around her head, bronze and ethereal in the torchlight. She was a goddess. More beautiful than the golden haired Sif, fierce and stunning like Freya. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> goddess. The only one he wanted to worship from now on. He lost himself in the golden hues of her amber eyes before she pulled him towards her and sealed their lips together one more time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands shook as he ran them over her sides, teasing the soft valleys and curves of her body. The quiet gasps that left her lips were the most beautiful music to his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione, please…” he begged. He was not sure he could halt his urges and wants if she didn’t stop him now. His hands were roaming her body, he wanted to map every inch. “I want you so much…” His voice was barely a whisper, but her eyes widened and an alluring blush covered her freckled cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to cover her with his body, he wanted to feel her writhing beneath him. He wanted to rip off the flimsy dress and cloak she wore. His imagination ran wild as he pictured pressing her into the soft covers and claiming her as his. He felt lightheaded as he imagined pushing his throbbing length into her waiting core. She would feel divine, he knew this. She would be his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t say anything. She looked at him, wide eyed and innocent for a moment, and a </span>
  <span>shiver of dread ran down his spine. He held his breath and made to move away from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was left with only his imagination; it would have to be enough to sustain him</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, her small hands slipped around his neck and she kissed him again. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and let himself get lost in the sensation of her plump lips moving against his; her tongue exploring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you, Draco…” she breathed and the blush covering her face and neck darkened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost lost control. He almost tore her clothes into pieces. He wanted her so much it ached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was mindful of her inexperience. He wanted to be gentle, he'd hurt her enough -  this was for her</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> He’d hurt her enough; this was for her. He traced the length of her leg, from her ankle, all the way up with deft fingers as he tried to even his breathing. He gripped her thigh and she gasped as he pulled her leg around his waist and loomed over her. Hermione’s chest heaved and pressed flush against his, and he nearly lost all his resolve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to thrust into her. He wanted to make her scream his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling in his chest, this burning desire, it threatened to overwhelm him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whimpered beneath him so deliciously when his lips worshipped every inch of the exposed skin of her neck. She felt so small, so fragile under his exploring hands. So breakable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Hermione,” he breathed. “Please, tell me to stop.” His lips were just milimetres away from her ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cradled his face and kissed him again, with so much reverence his body trembled. “Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dam that held his passion at bay broke. He gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it off of her in one swift motion. His breath caught as he admired the perfect lines and curves of her exposed body. He traced his gentle fingers over her stomach; the gooseflesh that formed on her perfect skin prickled under his touch, and a deep pink blush covered her chest. She tried to cover herself, but he caught her wrists and brought them to his lips, kissing every knuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt her relaxing under his light touches. “You’re beautiful, Hermione,” he panted as he bent to place the softest kisses he could muster on her throat, inching down, easing her to the feel of his lips on her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He extinguished the desire to bite down on the soft skin of her breast and leave a mark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he took her hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked gently. She was so responsive it made him hungry for more. It made him want everything. It made him want to elicit those surprised moans from her lips for the rest of his days. He dared to graze the peaked bud with his teeth and she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, please. Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, I’ve got you…” he whispered against her skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Hermione’s back arched off the bed involuntarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was no longer ashamed as she was laid out beneath Draco, completely bare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt beautiful when his fingers traced patterns on her sides and stomach. She felt powerful when his lips trailed hot and wet paths on her breasts. She felt like she knocked on Heaven's Gates when his teeth grazed her pert nipple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The desire pooled low in her abdomen, the warmth that spread between her legs demanded more. She needed more of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this was what sin felt like, she wanted to be a sinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to burn in the hell of her passion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched, entranced, as Draco’s lips travelled further south. He kissed her stomach and circled her navel with his tongue and she gasped and arched into his teasing touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widened and her breath froze in her throat when Draco edged closer to the apex of her thighs. His hot breath teased the place she didn’t even dare touch herself. The place that burned with passion so much it was almost unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, what are you… ahh!” He did the unthinkable. He swept his tongue through her folds and the pleasure exploded in million colours. This new sensation was divine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was beyond her wildest dreams to even think of someone touching her </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>unimaginable</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have someone do what Draco was doing to her with his tongue. The lazy swipes against her slit, the teasing grazes against the little bud that made her eyes roll back in ecstasy spread the warmth throughout her body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was burning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was the most incredible she’s ever felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to burn like that forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her spine arched as she gripped his long hair for purchase and desperately pulled him closer to where she needed him most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should have been ashamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t care anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt Draco’s finger probe at her entrance and she froze, terrified. The intrusion was unexpected, but it was not painful. He started moving his finger in and out, crooking it within her core. Then he added a second digit, then a third.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let her adjust to the new sensation and before she knew it she was moaning and panting. She was begging for more.</span>
</p><p><span>The hot flood of desire that was flowing through her body </span><span>from the tips of her curled toes </span><span>to her lips that parted in a silent scream</span> <span>threatened to boil and overcome her any moment now. She gasped and babbled incoherently when Draco pressed his thumb against the little bud that he teased with his tongue. Suddenly, the heat and the tension bubbling inside her erupted. </span></p><p>
  <span>Every muscle in her body clenched and after a few delicious seconds, where she could neither hear or see, released, leaving her boneless and more sated than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco climbed up her limp body and smiled the most entrancing smile she’d ever laid her eyes on. He leaned over her, between her parted thighs, and she couldn't help but notice his hardened manhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing left to lose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitantly reached over and wrapped her hand around his impressive length. It was so large she could barely grip it properly. She squeezed a little harder and moved her hand up and down his shaft. She froze when he suddenly growled and released a shuddering breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I hurting you?” She wanted to retract her hand, but he stopped her by wrapping his own hand around her’s and guiding her movements. He panted again, his laboured breaths teasing the delicate skin of her clavicle as his head dropped into the crook of her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did it feel so empowering to be responsible for someone’s pleasure?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, relishing in the small sounds and sweet nothings he breathed into her heated skin as she worked him up. “Please, Hermione,” he panted, and she’d never heard him sound so desperate. He suddenly halted her movements. “Please, let me make you mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m yours,” she responded without thinking, surprising them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was yours since the day you brought me here, Draco.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He propped himself on his elbows and positioned his hardened manhood against her slick and sensitive core. She whimpered when he rubbed his length along her folds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t know what to expect, but she was sure whatever it was she could face it. He would guide her through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, she was stretched painfully as he pushed his length into her opening, inch by painful inch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silent squeal of pain left her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice clipped and strangled. She squeezed her eyes as the pain overtook her, but nodded nonetheless. She felt his soft lips kissing away her frown. He stopped moving and let her adjust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, it didn’t hurt so much any more, and he moved within her, slowly at first, picking up speed and intensity with every movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was pleasant, good even at first. Only to suddenly turn into another wild chase of the overflowing warmth that spread through her body and threatened to overtake her again. She dug her nails into his shoulders; she would surely leave a mark, but she needed to find purchase. She needed an anchor in the storm that enveloped her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved inside her like a man possessed. Her name and praises constantly on his lips. His eyes were glazed, his pupils blown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was feral and gentle at the same time. He was the reason why she wanted to burn. As long as he would burn with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, please,” she managed just as she saw stars again. Her muscles clenched again and the animalistic growl in her ear toppled her over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay entwined for what felt like hours. He held her so close she almost couldn’t breathe, but it still wasn’t close enough. “I’m yours,” he whispered into her brown curls as she traced lazy patterns with her fingers on his exposed skin and he caressed her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was content like she’d never been before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would sail away to pillage and plunder in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was his.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione closed her eyes when she felt Draco’s heartbeat slow and his breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep with her in his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was that what absolution felt like?</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Find me on <a href="https://amarillis39.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> if you have any questions or just want to chat!</p><p>Any and all feedback is appreciated! Kudos and comments are better than pillaged gold and jewels, just saying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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